The Savior & the Sword
by forevertheone
Summary: The prophecy of the Boy-Who-Lived isn't the only one involving Harry Potter. Unknown, there is another one concerning him and an unknown girl, tying their worlds together. The girl, upon discovering said prophecy, pursues it. While she finds out what her true role in this truly world is, Harry struggles between what is truly good and bad. And how people are not what they seem.
1. Chapter One: Wringburg Attack

Chapter 1: Wringburg Attack

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A/N: This is the first real chapter of the SatS. The 'twin' prophecy is included. This will be the beginning of the "adventure" for the Unknown One. (By the way, Draco _will_ appear but in the third chapter. I'm not sure if it'll be all in Draco's perspective but yeah, he'll be there.) Also, a _warning:_ While some of the content is based from the books by J.K. Rowling, other parts on based by the movies. Just saying this now, so there is no confusion later on.

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 _The Daughter of the Sun and Moon_

 _Will be lost with the one left behind_

 _and be seen not until the day of a tragic deed_

 _Born as the unknown one_

 _She will help in bringing an end to an era of darkness_

 _Love, fear, and hatred will map out the way_

 _Unto which will arrive the final day_

 _May the hero's life remain intact, promises promised not waver_

 _And the beginning of a new world, Protected by something never to be undone_

 _Will fall in the hands of he who is more powerful than all,_

 _The one to experience first-hand worlds of grief and sorrow,_

 _For which lifeless heroes will give one final gift_

 _In the cold hopes so he may yet see tomorrow_

 _And rise to overthrow the servant and master from thy throne_

 _Might old foes forgotten be confined evermore within the chains of Atlas_

 _Sister in everything but blood,_

 _The daughter of the Sun and Moon_

 _Will protect, aid, and guide him in any way she can_

 _Going to all limits, impossible or not, to protect him until the final stand_

 _And with one final breathe_

 _From the enemy who never should've been_

 _Learner of magic old and of centuries stories' untold_

 _The daughter will let go with hope unprevailed_

 _The mist will be cast like a veil_

* * *

"Harry. . ."

Inside of the home of 4 Privet Drive resided a certain dark-haired boy. He was sitting in a chair by his bedroom window, cheek pressed against the cold, frosty window as he slept. The glasses on his face were askew and his mouth wide open. Snores emitted from his mouth as he slept, even through the sharp, twisting cold dancing inside the room.

There were faint bags under the boy's eyes, and uneasy exhaustion lined his face. "Harry. . ."

With a grunt, the dark-haired boy shifted in his chair. But he didn't wake up. No, he continued sleeping as if nothing were amiss, completely unaware of the chaos breaking throughout the whole wizarding world at that very moment. He had not the slightest of idea of the news spreading like wildfire about the horrors of that night, which would later go on to be named the Red Night.

Or of how much his life was about to change.

* * *

Far away in a small forest on the eastern side of England lay a small wizarding town named Wringburg. Wringburg, in all aspects, was considerably small, with only three hundred seventy-four people occupying its homes and cottages. Considering how secretive and tranquil the town was, it didn't attract much attention from the rest of the wizarding world,. No trouble arose from there, except the occasional argument or so. Indeed, Wringburg was the place to go if you wanted to avoid being surrounded by hordes of witches and wizards. Or if you wanted to escape from something.

But on that fateful July night, Wringburg experienced terrible horrors that they'd always thought, always sure in the thinking they were safe, would never befall them. Frigid autumn winds howled fiercely, shaking the forest's trees and making them shudder. The moon was bright and round against the black, inky sky, and it cast the world into a dance of light and shadows. And it was from these shadows that emerged a dozen cloaked figures wearing plain white masks over their features. They stalked through the silent streets confidently, wands gripped firmly in their hands. Above, more figures hovered in the air, ready to strike at the slightest of signals.

"Kill everyone and spare none," the cloaked-figure snapped, turning his head slightly to address his companions. "There is to be no failure. He will not allow it." Several of the people around him trembled in fear at the thought of what they would receive should they fail in their given task. The man scowled underneath his hood.

"What about the homes?" a female voice called from the back. Her voice was thick and sweet as honey. Yet it made most men cower in their boots when directed at them.

For a moment, the male leader paused. Then in a cool voice he responded, "Burn the houses down. In fact, make well in leaving behind nothing unscathed." There were excited murmurs before the group leader once again spoke the word that would doom hundreds of innocents to their deaths. "Begin."

The action was immediate. The black-cloaked figures charged at several homes at full speed, laughing gleefully at the knowledge of the pain and death that they would cause, throwing spells left and right. Earsplitting screams filled the air as the town's citizens woke up to their awaiting deaths. With a detached look, the man watched as a woman came running out of her home, sobbing and looking over her shoulder. She didn't make it very far before someone swooped down from above and cast the infamous killing curse on her. Instantly, the woman crumpled to the ground, lifeless, her face still lined with panic. He sneered. The wench hadn't even attempted to defend herself in the least. It was the nicest death that could've been given to her. With a bored sigh he folded himself in the air and disappeared into the night. He had other business to attend to.

Meanwhile, in one of the farther cottages down the end of Wringburg stirred a girl with striking dark brown chestnut hair. She bolted up in her bed when she heard earsplitting screams split the air. Alarm had her immediately running to her bedroom window to see what was going on. Shock filled her pale features as threw open the window shutters and withheld the image of burning homes in the distance and cloaked figures. Nausea made her knees weak when she saw one of the figures drop a young boy from the air. His yells echoed painfully in her heart as he landed on the ground below with a snapped neck. Tears pricked her eyes when she saw an older woman sobbing over the boy's body, presumably his mother, before she was tortured to death by another of the cloaked figures whose laughter she heard quite clearly. The woman's screams echoed in her ears long after.

Her hand clenched around the wand that was hers but used rarely.

"Brielle!" said a sharp voice and she spun around, quickly grabbing her wand from where it lay beside her bedside table, " _Protego_ " on the edge of her lips. Her hand lowered cautiously when she saw it was her only living relative, Aunt Joanne.

Her aunt was only a couple of years older than Brielle, seeing as she'd been the youngest of three children. But heavy age could be seen by the way she stood stiffly at the door, lines already cornering her mouth due to the stress and fear of over the several hard years. Her eyes were wide and panicked. "Brielle, we have to leave. It's not safe here. Not anymore."

Aunt Joanne had been her mom's sister. Brielle knew that when her mom had been alive, she and Joanne had been inseparable, always traveling together and watching each other's backs through thick and thin. They'd often been called the Two Saints due to their gentle, loving demeanors and smiles that could soften most men's hearts. Like her sister, Joanne had been blessed with bright crystalline-blue eyes which were contrasted sharply against her dark blonde curls. Odette, however, had been born with dark midnight waves.

For as long as anyone could remember, the two had always trusted each other, never hiding anything from one another. So it was a complete shock to the whole family when Odette Leighn disappeared suddenly, just days after fervent plans to visit the Leighn Manor along with Joanne and a friend from her school days, something they'd all been looking forward to, convincing all the Leighns into thinking her dead after it had been revealed Joanne knew nothing about her sister's disappearance except that she'd been acting odd the day before, scared even. And then she'd appeared once more several months later, pregnant and changed in a way no one knew how to describe. Especially not Joanne, who was confused about the whole thing as a whole. Everyone assumed she'd been kidnapped and intimately abused, and Odette hadn't said anything to make others believe otherwise.

But Aunt Joanne had suspected there was more to the story than met the eye, though when she tried to talk to her sister, Odette drew away. Resigned, Joanne grudgingly accepted what everyone else believed. But then the day after Brielle was born, her sister was murdered, along with the rest of the Leighns with the exception of Joanne. And Brielle of course. Aunt Joanne had been upstairs in Brielle's new room, looking after her as Odette and the rest of the family discussed politics in the living room downstairs when it happened. The only reason they hadn't been killed as well had been because of the wards Odette had strongly insisted on putting up around her daughter's room the second she was born, which to non-family members appeared as an empty storage closet. Up to this day Aunt Joanne found it odd that what Odette had fought so fiercely about had saved their lives, even when the other Leighns insisted that it wasn't needed, that it was ridiculous really.

" _Brielle_! Brielle, listen to me." said Aunt Joanne frantically, rushing around the room as she spoke. "We need to leave, quick. _Now._ Those guys -they're not good people. If we stay here they'll surely kill us." She glanced nervously out the window. "Pack your things, and be fast at it. Please." Brielle snapped back to reality when she Aunt Joanne picked up her wand and whispered " _Quietus_ ". Instantly, a small light shot from her wand and around the room. She stared.

Aunt Joanne and Brielle didn't normally use wand magic or _any_ magic really, instead opting to do things the way a Muggle would. It was for their safety, Joanne had always said. Acting like a muggleborn or half-blood would save them from getting killed. Personally, Brielle never understood why since she knew that the Dark Lord, the one who'd killed thousands upon thousands of magical and non-magical people alike hated muggleborns and half-bloods. In fact, he made it a habit to kill them for fun. Seeing her look, Aunt Joanne shook her head in a don't-think-about-it sort of way.

So Brielle finally began moving.

She understood that they were in danger, even if the realization did take some time to sink in. And then when it did, her heart began pounding rapidly in her chest, recognizing that she was in danger. Fear seeped into her bones, leaving a metallic taste in her mouth. Her hands shook as she blindly stuffed galleons and sickles into her magically expanded purple bag, which was capable of fitting half of her room belongings. It'd cost Aunt Joanne a fortune, more than ten galleons. Brielle had been horrified upon discovering this, even more so when she discovered that Aunt Joanne had gotten not one but _two_. All Aunt Joanne had done though was laugh at the look on her face and assure her that they had more than enough money. Not that she told Brielle how that was possible when they could barely scrape by. And it wasn't like Brielle wanted to know anyways. She'd learned over the years that some things were better left unsaid.

Now, she couldn't help but think that her aunt had probably suspected something like this would happen. The mere thought made her nauseous so she instantly pushed the thought to the back of her mind for later pondering. If they even survived that long.

As she finished shoving her most precious things inside, an earth-shattering boom reverberated throughout the room, causing everything in the room to tremble. The cloaked figures-the Death Eaters-were getting closer. Brielle quickly shrunk her bag and placed it in the pocket of her pajamas, taking Aunt Joanne's one as well, who looked at Brielle with a grim look on her face that Brielle didn't quite understand. Not then. "Let's go." she whispered quietly, fear and determination etched on her pale, angelic features. Aunt Joanne gripped her pale beech-made wooden wand in one hand as she made her way out into the dark hallway.

Gnawing her lip anxiously, Brielle followed after her aunt, taking great pains to keep her footsteps quiet on the cold stone floor. Now wouldn't be the time to trip and all flat on her face, thus alerting the Death Eaters to her and her aunt's presence. "Why are Lord V-V-Voldemort's people attacking Wringburg?" The words that left her mouth were little more than a terrified whisper. She knew that the current Dark Lord was the most feared wizard in the entire wizarding world, and that the figures out there were his people, ones who served him. Just like she knew that they killed countless people in cold blood. Growing to fear him, Brielle was positive that she'd scream or faint if she ever saw him flesh to flesh, her fear went that great.

Her aunt gave out a faint choked sound at the Dark Lord's name. Like her niece, she was frightened of the Dark Lord. The fact that he'd ordered the whole Leighn family killed didn't help matters.

In a somewhat subdued voice, Aunt Joanne replied, "I don't know."

Brielle closed her eyes as, unbidden, endless possibilities of why Wringburg was being attacked assaulted her mind. Maybe one of the residents had angered him? Was he singling out the small towns and cities first? Had the war already started once more? She flinched when she heard one of many screams pierce the already noisy air. Her aunt's face hardened into a mask of determination and she cast her wand at the ready. Honestly, Brielle didn't think anything could be worse than hearing the people she'd grown up with, the only neighbors and friends she had, being murdered. Anguish ate at her insides.

Just then, as if to prove her wrong, that things could get worse, a sharp whistle cut through the air. She froze as she heard the unmistakable sound of the front door to the small two-story cottage slamming open. "There are people in here," a deep, cruel voice snarled almost at once. "I can smell them!" She choked back a hysterical scream as more than one person's footsteps creaked against the downstairs floor.

"Yes, yes," a high, sickly sweet voice cooed. Brielle's skin crawled and she shut her eyes tightly for a brief second, praying for what it was worth that she nor Aunt Joanne weren't found by the owners of the cruel voices. "The filthy Light mongrels must be cowering in a corner, scared out of their senses, as they should be. Oh, soon they'll learn who their _real_ masters are." Aunt Joanne paled as laughter, loud and slightly wild, filled the air. One man snorted in agreement. Brielle's lips trembled as Aunt Joanne desperately nudged her back the way they'd come.

"Shh. Brielle, hurry." her aunt pled, voice cracking. Brielle felt her heart freeze as the Dark Lord's people destroyed their stuff (belongings that she and Aunt Joanne had made themselves through painstaking effort and patience) below. Her body trembled violently as she re-entered her bedroom, knowing fully well that she'd soon die if they didn't find way to escape. Soon. The bedroom curtains swayed softly in the air, appearing gentle and mystical and making her believe for one split second that everything was normal. That she and Aunt Joanne weren't about to just die. That there weren't murderers downstairs yearning for their blood and death. But the image was cruelly ruined when outside her window, she heard a loud sob and a green light flashed from across the street. Another person had just died then.

Brielle stiffened when she heard the unmistakable sound of feet walking up the stairs.

In a few moment's time, the Dark Lord's people were going to arrive and kill them. Aunt Joanne and Brielle would never live to see another morning. She would never get to visit her mom's homeland or travel to her dream place. Despair gripped her tight and hard, and she let out a faint echo of a sob.

Suddenly, she was being gripped by a frantic Aunt Joanne. Brielle blinked at her as she began speaking rapidly. "Listen to me very closely, Brielle Leighn. _This_ "-she thrust a small round object into Brielle's hands-"is a portkey. It'll take you anywhere. France, Belgium, the United States. And right now, this will take you to Hogwarts, to Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster. Albus-he's a smart, kind man. He'll take good care of you. The word, the word to activate the portkey is 'Forgiveness'. You need only to tell him who you are-"

"No! What are you saying?" Brielle cried. Tears streamed down her face and she clung to her aunt like a drowning person, suddenly dreading the next words that she knew her aunt would say. Something that she'd been afraid of.

Taking a step back, Aunt Joanne smiled shakily at her. Her eyes were full of tears, making the amber of her irises glow brightly. "I always knew that my time would come." she said. Although her face was distraught,, her voice was calm, serene. Brielle tried to open her mouth to speak but she rushed on. "I'll be okay, sweetie. You'll be okay, you'll survive. I'll be reunited with my sister and the rest of my family. Death is simply but an old friend that we'll all embrace at one point or the other." She swallowed hard. "But you. . .Brielle, remember all that I've taught you. Don't you forget who you are, okay? You will have a complicated future ahead of you and ultimately a difficult decision but you're so strong, so good. You'll never be bad, not like her. I know you'll make your parents proud, wherever they are. Me as well. I'll always love and be with you."

She made a claw mark with three fingers out, an old prayer symbol that'd supposedly been in the family, tracing back all the way to the original family member. Aunt Joanne stepped back just as the dark wizards outside attempted to break the door down once more. They succeeded this time. Brielle cried out as the door banged open and in rushed in four figures cloaked in midnight black robes and donning white masks that covered their faces from views. Three of the four figures held a wand in their hands, she noticed. Her blood roared in her ears. A fresh wave of fear assaulted her and she staggered back, struggling to remain upright as she looked at the Dark Lord's people, the ones who had just killed dozens of _her_ friends. The ones who'd possibly even had a hand in her parents' murder. _Oh Merlin. Please help me._

One of the figures stepped forward and took off the mask to reveal wild, scraggly hair, a cruel face that was lined with cruel hunger, and glowing yellow eyes. Brielle let out a loud, shrill scream despite herself, backing against the window as he grinned, exposing sharp teeth. One of his companions, a female by the outline of a slight body through the robes, laughed sadistically. "Look at her face! Oh, this one, I'll enjoy playing with!" she shrieked gleefully.

"Elle, go!" Aunt Joanne screamed, raising her wand and firing off a curse as the man with the cruel face advanced. He snarled. "You will _not_ harm my niece, you bastards!"

Brielle shook her head. "No, I won't leave without you -"

" _Crucio_!" the woman screamed, pointing her wand at Brielle. Brielle's eyes widened and it was only the Brielle's fast reflexes that saved her from terrible agony as she twisted her body and rolled away. The spell sailed past her and out the window. A second later, somebody started screaming in agony. Horrified tears pricked her eyes. But no. Right now she had to focus on getting out of here alive with Aunt Joanne.

"Elle, please! _Go_!" cried Aunt Joanne, swerving around the curses thrown at her, firing counter curses with amazing speed, her eyes flashing pure gold. She made a dash for the door when she spotted an opening through the bodies but she didn't make it in time. Brielle could only watch, petrified, as one of the figures gripped her by her hair and shoved her to the ground roughly, laughing. She went sprawling across the floor with a grunt of pain, her wand rolling away, leaving her completely defenseless

Just as quickly, Aunt Joanne rose to her feet only to fall to the ground once more as she was hit with a binding spell. When she was placed under _"Crucio",_ Brielle moved in her direction angrily but then threw herself to the side again as the guy, the _werewolf_ she realized in horror, rushed at her. _"GO!"_ The look on her aunt's face broke her heart. Through clear the agony drawn over her face, Brielle saw terror, determination, and love. Aunt Joanne _still_ tried to protect Brielle as one of the wizards aimed a sword at her, which appeared out of its sleeve magically. Somehow, she managed to throw herself in its path and tripping it, even as her body writhed and convulsed. "GO!"

 _"Confundus!"_ Brielle shouted loudly, and the spell hit one of the Death Eaters, who advanced menacingly towards her, wand held aloft, straight in the chest.

"E-Elle - _Please_! You n-need to - " A horrible screeching sound ripped from her aunt's throat.

Brielle finally caved in to the pleading. It broke her heart but she knew her aunt was right. She knew she couldn't die today. Not until she did what she'd been trained to do. It wasn't time. "I'm s-sorry. I-I'll always love you." She stumbled over her words as she backed away, never tearing her eyes away from her aunt, who stared back at her with a face. For a moment, her gold eyes lost their pain and she smiled proudly at Brielle. But then she threw her head back and howled. The moment was over.

Brielle wept openly as she took a deep breath and said the word to activate the portkey that would take her away and doom her aunt to a miserable ending, "Forgiveness." just as the woman who had attempted to torture her in the beginning fired off the killing curse, her face twisted with fury. Her body left the ground. Instantly, the world began spinning as she was tossed and spun around in a cloud full of dark colors. There was a sudden tugging just behind her navel, which made her light-headed and dizzy, but she still heard her aunt's cry of pain and saw, somehow, as a sword was rammed deep into her back, saw her collapse to the ground, as Brielle was magnetically pulled forward, forward-

And then Brielle was gone.


	2. Chapter Two: Albus Dumbledore

Chapter 2: Albus Dumbledore

 _"Strength grows in the moments when you don't think you can go on but you keep going anyway."_

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A/N: Yes, Draco will appear in the next chapter for sure. A part of it will be viewed through Harry's eyes, and then the rest. . .Well, you know. Bear with me, please. I am trying my best. -By the way, do you guys have any suggestions for how the next chapter will proceed? I'd be more than happy to hear you out. Thank you.

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Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Witchery, had never planned she would spend a long period of time in miserable company with Cornelius Fudge-the now _former_ Minister of Magic-who had thought it would be deemed appropriate to barge into Minerva's office unannounced as she was halfway through a quite serious, important conversation with a fellow member of the Order of the Phoenix. Fudge had refused to leave after Minerva had politely suggested that he wait outside while she dealt with the Order member. Even after she'd subtly threatened to escort him out herself, he had demanded that his presence was pressing, for he held extremely important news that would surely capture her and Dumbledore's attention.

So it'd been with great reluctance that Minerva told Sarah Tullen, who worked in a high position at the Department of Law Enforcement, and had had quite some interesting things to say about Voldemort's most recent whereabouts and Amanda Bone's death, that she would contact her fellow former house student later on.

"Of course, Minerva." Sarah said, smiling tightly at Fudge as she got to her feet, clutching a big black bag to her chest.

Fudge glanced at her warily. He hadn't been on very good terms with the wizarding population as a whole ever since it'd been discovered that Voldemort _had_ returned and as Minister had insisted for some time that those were only the lies of a young, attention-seeking Harry Potter. To say the least, Minerva had never before seen so many witches and wizards agree on something as she soon saw, once they found out that the Ministry had lied about the Dark Lord's return and that their Savior had been wronged and branded as a liar. But that was what had happened. Cornelius Fudge had been sacked a mere three days ago. Not that she didn't agree with the decision, Minerva thought disapprovingly as Sarah packed her things. Sarah gave her old professor a small smile before throwing a pinch of floor powder into the roaring fireplace and stepping through the crackling emerald flames.

Everything was silent for a while, but as soon as Sarah had indeed gone, Professor McGonagall turned a sharp gaze to the man staring back at her nervously. "Now, Cornelius. Would you care to explain how it is that you found it in yourself to interrupt an important discussion between Sarah Tullen, from the Department of Law Enforcement at that, and myself? One that needed my whole _undivided_ attention, I might add?" she snapped, flicking her wand sharply as she went around her desk to her chair. A tray containing a pot of tea and two mugs floated over to the Professor's desk. A few other waves and flourishes and an impenetrable privacy ward, including several other protection wards just for good measure, were set up.

"N-Now Minerva. . .ah. . .You see, there have been recent attacks on wizarding communities worldwide just an hour recent by You-Know-Who." Fudge fidgeted uncomfortably as Minerva looked at him through sharp, alarmed eyes. He plowed on lest she kick him out. "The, ah, _Minister_ found it substantially important that I inform you and Dumbledore of this new occurrence at once."

"I'm afraid Dumbledore is not here, Cornelius." she said stiffly, folding her hands together over her desk. "In the meantime, my hands are tied on the matter." She was glad her voice didn't shake with the fear she felt for all those people possibly under attack, knowing full well that if such a thing _were_ happening that the Order was more than likely taking care of it.

There was a short pause where Cornelius Fudge looked uncertain on whether or not the professor was telling the truth. He gazed at the door, almost as if expecting Dumbledore to walk in at any moment and apologize for being late. But when nothing happened, he turned back to look at the elderly witch who watched him unblinkingly, her hands folded. His eyes were distrusting as he nodded and said somberly, "I see that that is the case, Minerva."

Minerva found it necessary that one try to always be polite, so it was because of this that she refrained from asking him to take his leave and come back later. Instead, she nodded her head and offered the elder man a thin smile. "Yes, indeed so, Cornelius." She peered at him sternly over her square glasses. "Now, about this important news you were talking about. . .May you be so inclined as to indulge me into what it is that is so important?"

Suspicion instantly had Professor McGonagall sitting up straighter in her chair as she looked in growing dread at Fudge's suddenly pale, fearful expression. Whatever it was he was going to say was instantly something that Minerva knew she wouldn't like hearing. Her thoughts were turned into bitter reality when Fudge began speaking in a low voice, as if afraid that someone would overhear him. "You-Know-Who. . . H-He's began openly attacking wizarding communities along with the muggle ones. Wizards, they're being killed left and right! And assassinated in their own homes, mind you! The Dark Mark has been flaring in the air for the past few hours and the whole wizarding world is in an uproar of panic. They are fearful and assume they're going to be next."

Professor McGonagall sucked in a sharp breath. "What do you mean? The Dark Lord has been invading and murdering wizarding towns?" she gasped, her eyes filling with dismay. Why hadn't he heard of this? The Order would surely know if such a thing was happening. Wouldn't they? The witches and wizards in their portraits turned to look at Fudge in unease, whispering quietly among themselves. Professor McGonagall flinched.

Fudge's hands trembled as he took a mouthful of his now lukewarm tea. He avoided looking at the Professor, instead choosing to gaze down at his cup as if it were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. "Yes, that is what I said." he replied at last.

"This. . .Do you have any idea of why this is, Cornelius? If the Dark Lord is targeting any specific towns?"

There was an uncertain pause and then, "We can't be positive. Scrimgeour is certain that the D-Dark Lord is simply trying to cause an uproar of fear and panic, and mock his power over the Ministry. But to answer your question-No, there hasn't been any particular pattern as far as the new Minister is concerned. But there is one thing. . .He's been raiding towns with a small number of inhabitants, not very easily located ones at that, I might add."

McGonagall frowned, her mind visibly racing. "I'm sorry, Cornelius, but if that is the case than I am afraid that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named _must_ be looking for someone, or _something_ , if he is going to such great pains of hunting down secluded Wizarding communities. But it is now a matter of figuring out the matter of what it is he seeks." She set down the cup she'd been holding down with a loud thud and stood from her chair.

Once upon a time, in happier times, Cornelius would have simply waved away such words but this was now and he was more sensible to the bitter truth.

"What are you going to do?" Fudge asked carefully as he watched the Professor make her way to the fireplace with swift, determined strides. He was slightly irritated when she didn't answer but instead grabbed a pinch of Floo powder. "Minerva! I demand to know who it is you will be calling!"

Without answering Fudge, Professor McGonagall threw the emerald powder into the fireplace, muttered something under her breath and then stuck her head into the flames. "Remus! Remus Lupin, where are you?" she called loudly, turning her head. There was a pause from her and then she said, "Of course." to whomever she was talking to before taking a few steps back.

Fudge stared at her with a pale face. The Professor was calling a _werewolf_?

"Now, see here, Minerva - " sputtered Fudge

Rather abruptly, the fire roared, interrupting whatever the previous Minister was about to say, and a dark figure came stumbling out with a harrumph. Said figure dusted off his shabby blue pajamas as he raked one hand through his hair. "Whew, you gave me quite a fright there, Professor. Admittedly a big one. I was just making my way back to my office to deal with some paperwork after preparing myself a cup of tea to help me relax but, what to do I find upon entering the door? Why your disembodied head in my fireplace of all things!" He laughed quietly, although his worn face was lined with exhaustion, something that shouldn't be, considering that Remus Lupin was still young. He hadn't taken notice of Cornelius's presence yet.

"Remus." Professor McGonagall said sternly, cutting off her fellow friend with a subtle nod in Fudge's direction. Remus turned to follow her gaze and stiffened at once. "As you can very well see, we have something extremely serious to discuss. Something not including my disembodied head."

"What - Forgive me, Professor, but what is _he_ doing here?" said Remus coldly upon seeing Cornelius Fudge in Professor McGonagall's office and sitting in one of her chairs. His usually warm eyes lost all their warmth as they turned frostier than one had ever seen and his face pulled back into an angry scowl that truly did nothing to hide the hatred in it. Fudge fidgeted in his chair.

Pursing her lips, Professor McGonagall turned to peer at the newly installed "grandfather clock" on the wall behind her chair for the time. Albus had insisted so very strongly that she get said clock. For whatever reason she had no idea, since the Headmaster refused to indulge her, but nonetheless there the clock was, slowly ticking the time away. "Albus should be along in a short matter of time." she said stiffly. When she turned her attention back to the two men in her office, she saw that Fudge was looking quite pale under Remus's quite cold, angry gaze. It appeared he was debating whether he should stay to deliver the news about Lord Voldemort personally to Albus himself or take his leave and leave it to Minerva to explain things, before he got confronted by an unforgiving werewolf. That was obviously the last thing he wanted. Minerva didn't bother to mention the fact that Remus, no matter how much he hated Cornelius, wouldn't attack the other man. She rather thought it was fair that he be scared out of his wits after causing one of the students from her own House a great deal of trouble and misery. Especially since that student was none other than Harry Potter, the other pupil aside from Miss Hermione Granger and young fourth year that she found herself quite fond of, and whom she considered family, not that she would ever admit that aloud.

"I. . .Um," stuttered Cornelius Fudge. "Minerva, now that I've delivered the news to you I believe I should g-go. I think you're more than capable of telling A-Albus yourself, yes, you'd be more suitable to that than I."

"What news?" said Remus, dropping his unflinching gaze on the previous Minister to look at his friend with an alarmed expression. "Is it about Harry? Did something go wrong? He wasn't captured by Death Eaters, was he?"

For a moment Minerva was tempted to tell him about the most recent news that there were rumors circulating around that an attempt on kidnapping Harry would soon happen, if Sarah's word was anything to go by. But then she remembered that Fudge was there and decided it was best to keep quiet until they were alone. One never knew who could ever really be trusted after all. "The Dark Lord is striking once more." said Minerva at last.

Remus was alert at once. He crossed the room to stand in front of Minerva in three long strides, frowning. "How do you mean?" he said quietly, ignoring the look of suspicion that swiftly slid across Fudge's face as he watched Remus, his face ashen with dread.

Eyeing Fudge cautiously, Minerva said in a clear voice, "He has been attacking Wizarding communities with scarce populations and hidden locations." She paused to let her words truly sink in. "But that is not all. I fear that Voldemort" - she grimaced - "is looking for something important if he has suddenly taken to attacking isolated wizards."

"Does Albus know of this?" questioned Remus in an unsettled voice as he looked at the clock on the wall. He definitely looked worried now. Minerva couldn't blame him, for she was quite worried herself now, about what it was the Dark Lord was searching for.

She gave a single shake of her head. "No. Fudge told me of the news moments before I called you over. But I suspect that Albus might still be interviewing. . .someone. I do hope he hurries and is on his way soon though, there is only so much time we have. And - I fear that another attack might soon be on its way. Let us pray I am wrong. In the meantime, we all have much to discuss." At this she gave Fudge a meaningful look which the man instantly cringed at.

"Uh, oh yes. Right you are, Minerva!" said Fudge cheerfully. He attempted a smile that ended up looking more like a grimace than anything. In fact, Fudge was thinking that right about then he'd rather be stuck in the same room with Scrimgeour than the stern Hogwarts Professor and the werewolf. Honestly, together they made him feel insignificant and small, which rather irked him to no ends. He might've not been the Minister now but he was still someone to be respected. And so far, the werewolf and Professor were acting as if he were some kind of simple low-class wizard.

As if to prove his point, he was offered a mere stern smile from the Professor before she turned her sharp gaze to the mysterious stack of papers on her desk. How she had work to do even after school was over for the summer, Fudge had no idea, for he himself had preferred to do his work before hand as to not have work interrupt his time of hard-earned enjoyment when he'd been Minister.

"I'm thinking that the Order should be alerted to this," said Professor McGonagall, turning back to her desk and pile of papers. With a frown she sat down in her chair before looking at Remus with a contemplative look. "Yes, they should all be alerted at once to the new movements of the Dark Lord lest they do something that will unknowingly play into His traps. If they aren't already on the move, that is." She ignored Fudge's small gasp.

Remus glanced at Fudge then back at the Professor. His gaze obviously screamed, _Why are you speaking so openly in front of_ Fudge _, of all people?_ Professor McGonagall simply pursed her lips.

"That might turn out to be a wise move," Remus agreed after a rather lengthy pause. He hesitated then nodded slowly. "Yes, it will indeed be wise to inform the Order of what is going on at the most likely fitting moment."

Nobody said anything for a moment. Cornelius looked on with an uncomfortable look from his chair, Professor McGonagall continued writing on a piece of apparent blank parchment, and Remus simply stood there, getting all the more agitated as the seconds slowly ticked by and no one spoke. Remus coughed loudly. "Should I inform Kingsley of the most recent events so far, Professor?" said Remus. "I think it would be best if we alerted some of the Order to your prediction."

Professor McGonagall's hand, which had been furiously writing down a list of ingredients that Flitwick had kindly asked her to purchase, paused in mid-air and she lifted her head, a contemplative look on her face. "That might well be nice."

"If I am correct, I believe Kingsley Shacklebolt is on a mission with another squad of Aurors right now."

"Yes, yes, thank you for your opinion," said Remus coolly. "But right now, we have a more dire situation at hand than a couple of Death Eaters. Dare I say, we might have You-Know-Who's other possible weakness here."

Cornelius fell silent once more; Professor McGonagall shook her head at Remus but didn't bother disagreeing with him.

* * *

Harry Potter gave a long, tired sigh as he stared up at the dark ceiling where he was currently sprawled on the bed inside Fred and George Weasley's room in the Burrow. After Dumbledore dropped him off and left and Mrs. Weasley left back downstairs after leading him into her sons' room, he'd been alternating between feeling gloomy and outright wretched to happy and relieved. Happy and relieved to finally see the Weasleys, whom he considered his family. The Dursleys honestly didn't count since Harry hated them and the rest of his blood family was dead. The Weasleys were more of his family, with their love and kindness towards him, than the Dursleys had ever been in all the years he'd spent with them and their burning hatred and disgust for him rolled into one. And then. . .And then he felt gloomy when he started thinking of what had occurred during his fifth year at Hogwarts.

Sirius had died.

While he'd struggled to come to terms with the loss of the death of the godfather he'd spent so little time with, before he was murdered by Bellatrix Lestrange (Harry's stomach twisted horribly, and grief and anger filled him), Harry also constantly found himself thinking of how stupid he was. Of how it was all his fault. Sirius's death, Cedric Diggory's. . .His parents. . . He knew that it was wrong to feel like this but he couldn't seem to stop. Whenever he thought of Sirius's limp body falling into the mist he felt like he was slowly cracking apart after receiving one too many blows, ready to shatter and spiral piece by broken piece into oblivion. It hurt, all of it. If it weren't for him all those people that had died would still be alive instead of underneath the ground, never to move or breathe or speak again.

Everyone told him it wasn't his fault all those people who were not here anymore had died but Harry doubted they actually all meant it. Some shot him accusing looks when they thought he wasn't looking and whispered behind his back. None of what they said surprised him anymore. But it did make him hurt and angry. And that, feeling angry, made him feel alive again. It was the only thing that drove him forward these days.

In fact, he glared out the Weasleys' window now as his mind raced furiously.

It wasn't like he'd asked to Harry Potter, the bloody Saviour of the Wizarding World! All he'd ever wanted was to be just him, to be just Harry. He didn't want to be a hero. That job could go to whoever wanted it so bad, to whoever wanted all the misery and glory and death. But he wanted a peaceful, happy life, not one where the people around him - people he loved - were constantly dying and crazy lunatics were trying to kill him and his friends. Yet he had to. He _had_ to fight a fight he feared he would ultimately end up losing because he couldn't stand the idea of not fighting, of giving up, and then leaving thousands of people, who looked to him with misplaced faith that he'd save them, under Voldemort's cruel rule. If there was any chance that he could rid this world of Voldemort once and for all, Harry would take it in a heartbeat. Even if it cost Harry his very life, which was now a very likely possibility, thanks to the prophecy. The prophecy that had led to his parents dying and to Harry being labeled the Boy-Who-Lived.

Breathing a deep sigh through his nose, Harry turned his head away from the view of the dark inky sky outside. A stone rolled in the hollow place in his stomach. Without knowing how or why, he had the strong suspicion that something bad was going to happen, something tragically dreadful. . . But he had not the faintest idea what.

He groped underneath his pillow where he'd placed his wand earlier when he'd first entered Fred and George Weasley's room. For a moment, he panicked, thinking he'd dropped his wand, but then his hand touched solid wood and he breathed a sigh of relief, curling his hand around it tightly. Good. He couldn't bear it if he lost the only thing that was his protection nowadays.

 _Everything is going to be okay,_ thought Harry fiercely. He ignored the dull pang in his heart as he pulled his blanket over his head. _It's nothing. I'm just sleepy, is all. . ._ And then Harry fell asleep, the nagging sense that things were not okay but the complete opposite in the back corner of his mind.

* * *

With a scream, Brielle landed hard on her back. The small green pin that'd been clutched in her hand rolled away as she unclenched her fingers in shock. Hard, solid concrete touched her back, she winced as a painful ache began throbbing throughout her body. She would be sore and be covered in bruises come a few hours, no doubt, considering that she'd been born with, unfortunately, sensitive skin, that the merest hit from a ball with enough force left a dark blue welt on her skin. Her stomach turned over Feeling suddenly very nauseous, Brielle turned her head and, uncaring for the moment of as to where she was, retched onto the cold, stony floor. With a gasp, she laid her head down, letting her flushed face and streaming tears mix with the cold brick tiles underneath her cheek.

"Oh, how very unfortunate," said a deep voice from somewhere above her.

Brielle's eyes snapped open. Fear, sharp and bitter, had her sitting up scrambling to her knees, even as black dots danced in front of her eyes, and she scurried away from the voice. She reached hastily into her pocket. Where was her wand, where was it? She was positive she'd put it in there after she'd placed her bags inside her pajama shirt's own little pocket. Clenching her hands, Brielle rose shakily to her knees. She hadn't left her aunt behind to die only to die herself. Not today. "Stay back," she rasped, voice trembling, and she looked up to get her first look at the owner with the deep voice, wand raised.

She was met with the clear, twinkling blue eyes of a man with half-moon glasses, a long, crooked nose, and flowing silver hair, beard, and mustache, instead of another figure cloaked in black robes like Brielle had expected. This man didn't look dangerous or like he wanted to hurt her, much less kill her. He actually looked more like a sweet, elderly grandfather, not a murderer. Confusion spread through Brielle.

"I. . .Who are you?" she asked. It wasn't lost on her that she was the intruder, not the other way around, but she was still alarmed. Her eyes flickered to the wand inches from the man, lying innocently on a grand wooden table. The hold on her wand tightened.

"The better question, I think, would be, who are you?" said the man calmly. He grabbed the wand, carvings resembling clusters of elderberries ran down its length, which was presumably his. Brielle tensed but he simply gave a flick of his wand and the pool of bile on the floor disappeared. Her cheeks flushed. "There. Now, why don't you kindly take a seat so we may discuss your rather unexpected. . .appearance, Miss-?"

"My aunt said to look for an Albus Dumbledore," Brielle said quietly, making no move to sit down. She wouldn't say her name, no matter how much she was tortured, if it came to that, until she knew who this peculiar man was. "Are you him-Albus Dumbledore?"

A sort of quietness settled over the air and Brielle watched the elderly wizard before her, wariness coursing through her veins. "Yes, that is I," he said at last. His face was somber. "Am I to correctly assume that your aunt was Joanne Leighn and that you are her niece?"

"Yes." Was, not is. So he knew.

Albus Dumbledore nodded slowly. He knew without a doubt now that Joanne Leighn was dead, Brielle was completely positive of it. The twinkle in his eyes faded slowly as he took in Brielle's tear-streaked face, crinkled blue pajamas, and shaking body, a finger gently stroking his long beard in obvious thoughtfulness. Aunt Joanne's death obviously wasn't as distressing news as it was to Brielle, but there was a certain amount of sadness in Albus Dumbledore's eyes that convinced Brielle of his sincere unhappiness over her aunt's death. A fire crackled merrily in the fireplace but the warmth did nothing to subside the chill that had seeped into her bones. Nothing would, probably. "Well, any news Professor McGonagall has of Voldemort can wait for now, surely. Come, Ms. Leighn. We must first get you warmed up, for surely you are freezing in your nightclothes, and checked for any signs of injuries before we may have room for conversing about your sudden arrival here at Hogwarts. Follow me."

Placing a gentle hand on Brielle's back, he steered her out of the room and down a flight of stairs leading out into a dark, icy corridor. Brielle's teeth chattered as she followed Albus Dumbledore down this hallway and that, her bare feet numbed by the floor's stone. She couldn't honestly tell the difference between all the doors and corridors that they passed, they all seemed to look the same. Just as she was convinced that they'd just been going in circles the whole time, Dumbledore stopped in front of a set of double doors. Brielle tried not to breathe a sigh of relief as he opened the doors and walked in, his robes billowing after him.

Brielle followed in his wake slowly, eyeing the dozen or so beds with plain white curtains each on either side of the room, guessing that this was an infirmary. Grief clutched at her as she realized that Madam Wilkin, the one who'd healed and taken care of the sick and wounded in Wringburg, was likely dead. Madam Wilkin had always been a stern but kind woman with the type of smile that could make one feel cared for or scared witless when angered. She'd also been Brielle's friend for as long as she could remember, letting Brielle watch when she healed someone, letting her do it herself at times. It'd been watching her cure Aunt Joanne from feverish hallucinations due to eating enchanted mushrooms that had gotten her interest in getting a career as a mediwizard.

"Poppy?" Dumbledore called out loudly, holding out a hand to stop Brielle from walking further. She stopped.

"Is something wrong?" Brielle narrowed her eyes at the dark room, weary. For all she knew, this could be a trap and this wasn't actually the Albus Dumbledore that her aunt had raved so much about. After all, she'd seen Aunt Joanne take the guise of Klair Martine, a wealthy half-blood witch who'd lived in Wringburg for half of her life, by drinking the Polyjuice Potion to Apparate to London to attend to some "business" several times over the course of three years. She'd pretended to be several other people over the years, never sticking with one. You could never trust anyone to not recognize you as someone supposed to be dead or missing, she'd said. And she'd landed someone in muggle prison out of misplaced suspicion thanks to that. Aunt Joanne hadn't talk about trust for weeks to month afterwards. Shaking her head at her own paranoia-it was nothing she was sure-Brielle glanced at Dumbledore, feeling guilty. The night's events were getting to her.

A sudden bang had Brielle jumping. Dumbledore merely smiled. "Dumbledore, what are you doing, don't you see that it's late?" a woman's voice snapped, a little bit groggily. Brielle refrained from yawning herself. She'd only slept two hours before You-Know-Who's people attacked Wringburg and murdered the only family she had left. She was both physically and mentally drained. There was a small sound and then the room was suddenly bathed in candlelight from the several scones on the walls.

"Ah, Madam Pomfrey!" Dumbledore cried cheerfully at the witch's stunned look. "So sorry for interrupting-"

"Odette?" Madam Pomfrey breathed. Brielle stared at her, bewildered. This woman who Brielle guessed was the mediwitch for the infirmary, had known her mother? The woman, Madam Pomfrey, squinted, shook her head firmly, as if trying to clear her head. "No. Dumbledore, Odette Leigh is dead. Who are you, missy? What business do you have here, late at night?"

Madam Pomfrey pulled her bathrobe tighter around her, tapping one slipper-covered foot against the ground. Words refused to come out of Brielle's mouth when she opened her mouth. Seeing this mediwitch, her face lined with strictness through the fatigue from being woken up in the middle of the night, reminded her oddly of Madam Wilkin. The purple bathrobe reminded her of the one Aunt Joanne owned, _had_ owned, Brielle realized, except it'd been adorned with white streaks very much resembling falling stars at the sleeves. Seeing her face, Dumbledore said gently, "Poppy, kindly stop questioning this poor girl. As you can well see, she's been through a tough ordeal. She is, kindly put, in shock, and needs absolute bedrest. Some tea would be quite fitting right about now, given the circumstances, don't you think?"

The words were a hint aimed not so subtly at the elderly witch. And so Madam Pomfrey slipped into her role as the school healer and medic.

Clucking her tongue, she grabbed Brielle's arm and led her to the bed closest to her office. Once Brielle was lying on the bed, pillows fluffed up to a comfortable softness, Madam Pomfrey raised her wand. She made several gestures that Brielle knew were used to check for open wounds, broken bones, pain. "I'm covered with bruises," she said quietly, causing Madam Pomfrey's wand to pause mid-air.

"What, where?" she demanded.

"Back. My back, I mean, they're covered with them. I have sensitive skin you see, landing on concrete gave me those."

"Quick, turn around." Madam Pomfrey glared at Dumbledore, who waved merrily at them both before turning to leave, and drew the curtain around Brielle's bed closed. "Well, what are you waiting for, girl, spelled-out instructions? Let me see your bruises! They don't hurt much do they?"

Brielle showed Madam Pomfrey her back reluctantly. It wasn't that she was necessarily shy of being undressed in front of people, but there were seven long, thin scars on her back. She'd had them for as long as she could remember, and she hated when people saw them, for they all assumed she'd been whipped or some other nonsense though the truth was, Aunt Joanne had been as clueless to those scars as Brielle ever was. Nothing they'd ever tried let loose on the truth behind Brielle's scars. As a newborn, her mom hadn't let Brielle out of her sight once, Aunt Joanne said, not until the day she died downstairs. And then when Aunt Joanne fled from the Leighn Cottage where Brielle'd been born (the Death Eaters cast the Mark over the cottage after painting the walls with Leighn blood), Aunt Joanne hadn't left Brielle by herself for no more than two hours' time, and even then, only with Madam Wilkin or ridiculously high security. There simply was no explanation for the scars.

Thankfully, Madam Pomfrey didn't mention the scars.

"These bruises, no doubt, will be completely gone by morning." said Madam Pomfrey gaily. She waved her wand over Brielle's back and nodded in satisfaction, stepping back. "There you go. You can turn around now, Miss. . ."

"Leighn." responded Brielle, turning back around, pulling her shirt down quickly. "Brielle Leighn."

Rigid silence settled for a long moment. Then finally, Madam Pomfrey said, "I assume your mother was Odette Leighn?"

"Yes."

This time, the silence didn't last as long. "Your mother was a great person, you know, her sister too, always running around together, laughing, helping people-But Odette was something quite else. Kind, yes, but with an incredibly sharp mind. And a knack for trouble. She knew to recognize threats before anyone else, yet she was a frequent patient here. High with fever, covered in boils, scraped knees and elbows, you name it, a daredevil she was, always throwing herself into any situation. But she more than made up for that by assisting me in mending nasty hexes, something I scarce do. Or she did, anyways, until Joanne, overprotective fool that she was, urged her sister to quit, going on and on about her safety and such." Madam Pomfrey's voice was exasperated but noticeably warm.

Brielle didn't say anything. She'd never really known much about her mother, except what little Aunt Joanne had told her, but even then, the details were minor: her mother had had Brielle's dark hair and sensitive skin, was kind, intelligent, bold, a Quidditch fan. Nothing really significant to help Brielle ever conjure up a clear image of her mom.

"Uh, well, that'll be all." Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat, mistaking Brielle's silence for awkwardness. She probably thought Brielle knew all of this already. "Well, Dumbledore is probably off talking to Professor McGonagall, seeing as your arrival is quite unexpected, as you may well know, but he'll be back in due time, I'm sure. Now, why don't you get back under those covers and I'll go fetch a vial of Sleeping Draught for you. That will, of course, be consumed only after Dumbledore has returned from wherever it is he went to and has spoken with you. Understood, young lady?"

Nodding, Brielle sank back against the bed, wrapping the cool bed sheets tight around herself. Her bones felt hollowed out. "Understood," she mumbled.

Madam Pomfrey analyzed her sharply for a moment, making sure her patient was safely in bed and not about to run off to who knew where, then, her sleeping cap along with her wand in one hand, she gave a curt nod and marched briskly away. Brielle waited a moment after the mediwitch had gone, then she slid the sheets down to her waist and dug her hand into her pocket. Out came two little bags, one grey, one black. She picked up her wand, lying on the tabled besides the bed. _"Engorgio,"_ she whispered, pointing her wand at the little black one that was hers. It quickly grew back to its original size, landing softly on her lap, but Brielle didn't pay it any mind. Her gaze was now focused on the grey bag. The one that had belonged to Aunt Joanne for more than half of Brielle's life. The bag holding the only things that Brielle now had of her aunt.

She curled her hand around it gently as a yawning pit of sorrow and remorse filled her whole body so it felt like she was falling. Falling, falling, falling endlessly, never to touch solid ground again. A strangled sob burst from her mouth and she pressed her closed fist against her cheek, curling into her side. Tears started seeping from underneath her closed eyelids but she didn't bother trying to stop them.

 _Aunt Joanne shouldn't have died today_ , Brielle thought. _She should be here with me, not. . .dead. She shouldn't have left me all alone._ What would she do now? How was she ever going to survive in this world all by herself, when all she'd ever known was the life that she'd had at Wringburg, under the watchful eye of Aunt Joanne and Madam Wilkin? And especially in a world being overrun by a terrifying, evil dark wizard? _How am I ever going to complete what I'm supposed to?_

Brielle didn't move when she heard Madam Pomfrey come back nor when she set down the vial of Sleeping Draught on the table gently. She kept her eyes glued to the purple liquid inside the bottle, which was really nothing more than a smear of purple due to the blurred vision her tears gave her.

Only seconds later, it seemed, there were other footsteps nearing her bed. No. Not one pair of footsteps, but three. Holding her breath, Brielle waited to see who these footsteps belonged to. Unconsciously, she gripped her wand underneath the sheets.

"Ah, this young lady here will be the one I was telling you so much about, Minerva, Cornelius," said Dumbledore's joyous voice. How could he be so happy during dark times like these? And Cornelius? That name, for some odd reason, sounded strangely familiar. Where had she heard it before?

"She looks to be sleeping!" said a second voice, male. "How are we talk to her now? We obviously can't question someone who is asleep. I say we douse her with a bucket of cold water, that should wake her up in no time at all."

Question? These people that Dumbledore had brought with him were going to question her? Well, there was no way she would allow herself to be treated like a prisoner

"That won't be necessary," replied Brielle, wiping her cheeks hastily and looking up. Her first impression of the two persons Dumbledore'd brought along with him was that they looked angry. But no, that wasn't right. The witch in the emerald-green robes had her black hair (which had streaks of gray in it) twisted up into a tight bun. Beneath her square glasses, she had a very stern face, and Brielle instantly knew that this was definitely not someone to cross. Next to her side, there was a wizard. He looked shrunken, his hair gray and balding. His face had a sort of crumpled, exhausted look to it that made Brielle suspect he'd been through a lot recently.

"Merlin," gasped the witch with a startled face. "Dumbledore, you were right, she looks very much like her mother!"

"That she does," agreed Dumbledore. He smiled down warmly at Brielle. She met his gaze unflinchingly, even over conscious of the fact that her face was a mess from her crying, and his smile grew wider. "Ms. Leighn, would you care to introduce yourself to these people here at my side?"

Brielle nodded cautiously, plastering a smile on her face. "Hello there. My name is Brielle, Aubrielle Leighn, I mean. But please, simply call me Brielle."

The short wizard grimaced (it looked like he wanted to be anywhere that wasn't there) but extended his hand towards her nonetheless with a weak attempt at a smile. Brielle shook his hand briefly before he pulled back and cleared his throat awkwardly. "Nice, very nice, to meet you, Miss Leighn. I. . .I am Cornelius Oswald Fudge-previous Minister of Magic, at your service." He gave a little bow.

"Alright," said the witch, Minerva, walking past the previous Minister. She accessed Brielle for a second, and Brielle got the feeling she was going through a test of some sort. Apparently she seemed to pass though, because the witch gave Brielle a warm smile that eased her hard features into something almost soft. Brielle relaxed, glad to know she wasn't about to be fried by the elderly witch. At least not today. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Miss Brielle Leighn. I am Professor McGonagall. You will find you'll make lots of friends and lasting memories here at Hogwarts, rest assured. And I am positive we will get along just fine, no matter which House you are sorted into. You seem like a very lovely girl. I am sorry for the loss of your aunt, Joanne was always such a happy spirit."

Brielle's smile wavered. "Thank you, P-Professor," she muttered. This woman was kind. Had everyone known her aunt? It sure seemed like it, judging by the understanding look on the Hogwarts Professor's face. She breathed in deeply. "And I'm sure Hogwarts is an incredible school. My aunt-she talked well about it."

Dumbledore nodded. "Now, Brielle," he began seriously. Professor McGonagall and Cornelius Fudge straightened, their eyes suddenly more alert. Brielle was instantly suspicious. Looks like those were never good signs, and she was proved right when Dumbledore continued. "It is time for us to have a little chat about what happened tonight."

"I'm sorry?" Her stomach knotted. Not this, not right now, she didn't honestly feel like she could stomach being questioned about her aunt's death.

"I know it must be hard, but this is important to knowing what it is Lord Voldemort wants, Brielle, otherwise I'd wait a few weeks before I broached a topic so sensitive," said Dumbledore gently, his eyes softening. With a swish of his wand, he conjured up three comfortable-lloking chairs, and he, along with Professor McGonagall

Brielle swallowed. Her throat had gone all dry, her skin itchy. "I. . ." Professor McGonagall looked at her encouragingly, her eyes full of a silent question, so Brielle build up what courage she had and began speaking, her voice trembling only slightly. "Okay. Yesterday-I'm guessing it's now early morning-Aunt Joanne and me-all of Wringburg as well, actually-woke up when the Dark Lord's people, the Death Eaters, started attacking us while we were all asleep, thus defenseless. Since Aunt Joanne and I lived on the opposite direction where the Death Eaters attacked first, we had more of a warning than those on Perellie Street. I awoke to screams and, confused, I went to look out the window. It was there that I saw them. . .the Death Eaters, they tortured people, my friends, before killing them, dropping them from the sky, slitting their throats, killing their loved ones first-"

"Soon after, Aunt Joanne came bursting into my room. She knew what was happening before I did, and she was afraid, so afraid. Aunt Joanne wasn't one to easily be scared, so I was quickly terrified. I packed her stuff along with mine and then we began to go downstairs, planning to flee, I think, but then there were Death Eaters downstairs, too. When she ushered me back into my room, locked the door, and told me about the portkey, I knew-I knew we were going to die. Or I thought we were. Aunt Joanne kept telling me about my living on and meeting Albus Dumbledore, not including herself in there, and I was suspicious because it seemed like she _knew_ she wasn't going to make it. And. . .she didn't. She didn't. Once they broke in, Aunt Joanne put all her effort into trying to save me, regardless if she got hurt or not. I-I couldn't fight back." Brielle blinked away her tears angrily. "My body felt like it was frozen, I wanted to move but I couldn't, I was so scared. Ten years of learning how to fight all for nothing! My aunt, she got tied up, yet she still tried to help me. I knew, we both knew, that she was going to die but that _I_ didn't have to. She told me to leave her behind but I didn't-I didn't _want_ to. But I had to, I had to. . . So I left her, I let her _die_ , I watched someone plunge a sword through her chest, and I came here. I had to survive in order to talk to Albus Dumbledore and do what I'd been born to do, she said. . .What good that did me in the end though? The only family I had left is now dead."

Dumbledore cut in sharply. "What?" he said. Brielle looked at him, confused. He stared back at her with an ashen face. What was he talking about? "What did you say? Did you say were born to do something? Were you given a specific role in this world?"

Brielle, unsure if she was supposed to speak of this, said quietly, "Yeah. A prophecy was made six days before I was born, just four miles away. Aunt Joanne didn't know it was about me until she read my mom's diary two years later after her death and found out that she'd been lying when she said it was about some other girl that couldn't be me because I hadn't been born as a new year began, although in truth it actually said that the prophecy referred to a girl born as the year faded away, which meant December as that was the month the year faded into a new one."

Professor McGonagall exchanged a somber look with Dumbledore as she finished talking.

"What's going on? Dumbledore, I demand you explain." snapped Fudge, voicing Brielle's own confusion. She didn't get it. Why did the Hogwarts Headmaster look as if some terrible secret had just come to light? Or as if someone they'd thought missing was actually dead?

Ignoring him, Dumbledore turned bright blue eyes to Brielle. "You, I assume, were born in December?"

"Yes, sir. December 29, 1979."

Dumbledore nodded gravely.

"And your mother. . .You said she knew that this prophecy you just spoke of referred to you? She lied to her own sister about to whom it spoke about, she didn't tell her, even though they shared almost everything?"

"Um, yeah, I mean, yes."

Looking dazed, Professor McGonagall whispered hoarsely, "Albus, the prophecy, the _prophecy_ , the one that Miranda Plighten spoke of - you don't think. . ."

Stroking his beard slowly, Dumbledore heaved a long, tired sigh. That sigh sounded tired, as if in it, it carried the weight of too many things to bear. "Yes, Minerva," he said in a loud, clear voice full of bemused wonder, as Fudge and Brielle both leaned in, anxious, waiting to hear what he would say next that could be so important, "I believe we just found the key to helping one Harry Potter defeat Voldemort."


	3. Chapter 3: Like Father, Like Son

**Chapter 3**

 **Like Father, Like Son**

* * *

 ** _"_** _In wherein desperation leads to recklessness, the loss of a loved one to anger, and anger to the tendency of hurting others." - Anonymous_

* * *

It was late morning when Harry woke up at the Burrow.

He was awakened by what sounded like cannon fire as the door burst open. Sitting bolt upright, he heard the rasp of the curtains being pulled back: The dazzling morning sunlight seemed to poke him hard in both eyes as he looked up, suddenly remembering where he was. Shielding them with one hand, he groped hopelessly for his glasses with the other.

"Wuzzgoinon?"

"Harry! We didn't know you were here already!" said a loud an excited voice, and he received a sharp blow to the head.

"Ron, don't hit him!" said a girl's voice reproachfully.

Harry's hand found his glasses and he shoved them on, though the light was so bright he could hardly see anything. A long, looming shadow quivered in front of him for a moment; he blinked and Ron Weasley came into focus, grinning down at him.

"All right?"

"Never been better," said Harry, rubbing the top of his head and slumping back onto the pillows. "You?"

"Not bad," said Ron, pulling over a cardboard box and sitting on it. "When did you get here? Mum's only just told us!"

"About one o'clock this morning."

"Were the Muggles alright? Did they treat you okay?"

"Same as usual," said Harry, as Hermione perched herself on the edge of the bed, "they didn't talk to me much, but I like it better that way. How're you, Hermione?"

"Oh, I'm fine," said Hermione, who was scrutinizing Harry as though he was sickening for something. He thought he knew what was behind this, and as he had no wish to discuss Sirius's death or any other miserable subject at the moment, he said, "What's the time? Have I missed breakfast?"

"Don't worry about that, Mum's bringing you up a tray; she reckons you look underfed," said Ron, rolling his eyes. "So, what's been going on?"

"Nothing much, I've just been stuck at my aunt and uncle's, haven't I?"

"Come off it!" said Ron. "You've been with Dumbledore!"

"It wasn't that exciting. He was wanted me to help him persuade this old teacher to come out of retirement. His name's Horace Slughorn."

"Oh," said Ron, looking disappointed. "We thought - "

Hermione flashed a warning look at Ron, and Ron changed tack at top speed.

" - we thought it'd be something like that!"

"You did?" asked Harry, amused.

"Yeah. . .yeah, now Umbridge has left, obviously we need a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, don't we? So, er, what's he like?"

"He looks a bit like a walrus, and he used to be Head of Slytherin," said Harry. "Something wrong, Hermione?"

"No, of course not! So, um, did Slughorn seem like he'll be a good teacher?"

"Dunno," said Harry, "He can't be worse than Umbridge, can he?"

"I know someone who's worse than Umbridge," said a voice from the doorway. Ron's younger sister slouched into the room, looking irritable. ""Hi, Harry."

"What's up with you?" Ron asked.

"It's _her_ ," said Ginny, plonking herself down on Harry's bed. "She's driving me mad."

"What's she done now?" asked Hermione sympathetically.

"It's the way she talks to me - you'd think I was about three!"

"I know," said Hermione, dropping her voice. "She's so full of herself."

Harry, confused as to whether they were talking about Mrs. Weasley or some other someone he'd not heard of, coughed suddenly. Ron stopped mid-sentence. He, Hermione, and Ginny looked up at him in surprise. "I - er, I need to talk to your mum, Ron."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Last I checked, she was downstairs with _her_. I wouldn't suggest going there right now. She's driving mum completely nuts." She grimaced.

"Yeah. uh, thanks for the warning." said Harry, who had no idea who "her" was, as he fought to untangle himself from the bed sheets, ignoring Ron's snicker. He finally managed to land on solid ground and he darted for his trainers, eager to get downstairs and talk to Mrs. Weasley.

But before he could so much as put on one of his shoes, the bedroom door flew open and, startled, Harry crashed into Hermione, causing the both of them to land in an unceremonious heap on the floor. Apologizing, Harry got hastily to his feet and helped Hermione up. They sat back down quickly. Harry looked up.

A young woman was standing in the doorway, a woman of such breathtaking beauty that the room seemed to have become strangely airless. She was tall and willowy with long blonde hair, and appeared to emanate a faint, silvery glow. To complete this vision of perfection, she was carrying a heavily laden breakfast tray.

"'Arry, she said in a throaty voice. "Eet 'as been too long!"

As she swept over the threshold toward him, Mrs. Weasley was revealed, looking rather cross.

"There was no need to bring up the tray, I was about to do it myself!"

"Eet was no trouble," said Fleur Delacour, setting the tray across Harry's knees and then swooping to kiss him on each cheek: He felt the places where her mouth had touched him burn. "I 'ave been longing to see 'im. You remember my seester, Gabrielle? She never stops talking about 'Arry Potter. She will be delighted to see you again."

"Oh . . . is she here too?" Harry croaked.

"No, no, silly boy," said Fleur with a tinkling laugh, 'I meant next summer, when we - but do you not know?"

Her great blue eyes widened and she looked reproachfully at Mrs. Weasley, who said, "We haven't gotten around to telling him yet."

Fleur turned back to Harry, swinging her silvery sheet of hair so that it whipped Mrs. Weasley across the face.

"Bill and I are going to be married!"

"Oh," said Harry blankly. He could not help noticing how Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, and Ginny were all determinedly avoiding one another's gaze. "Wow. Er - congratulations!"

She swooped down upon him and kissed him again.

"Bill is very busy at ze moment, working 'ery hard, and I only work part-time at Gringotts for my English, so he brought me 'ere for a few days to get to know 'is family properly. I was so pleased to 'ear you were coming - zere isn't much to do 'ere, unless you like cooking and chickens! Well - enjoy your breakfast, 'Arry!"

With these words she turned gracefully and seemed to float out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Mrs. Weasley made a noise that sounded like "tchah!"

"Mum hates her!" said Ginny quietly.

"I do not hate her!" said Mrs. Weasley in a cross whisper. "I just think they've hurried into this engagement, that's all!"

"They've known each other a year," said Ron, who looked oddly groggy and was staring at the closed door.

"Well, that's not very long! I know why it's happened, of course. It's all this uncertainty with You-Know-Who coming back, people thinking they might be dead tomorrow, so they're rushing all sorts of decisions they'd normally take time over. It was the same last time he was powerful, people eloping left, right, and center - "

"Mrs. Weasley," said Harry quickly, upon seeing Ginny open her mouth.

"Yes, Harry, dear? Do you need something?" Mrs. Weasley turned to him with a warm smile, Fleur all but forgotten.

Clearing his throat, Harry said awkwardly, "I was wondering if I could - Could I talk to you in private for a moment, please?"

Mrs. Weasley nodded her head almost immediately, an alarmed expression settling on her features, undoubtly beginning to think of the worst. "Yes, yes, of course." she said, turning toward the door, beckoning sharply for Harry to follow her. Hermione looked at Harry keenly as he set aside the tray and stood, her eyes full of suspicion. Ron looked worried, Ginny curious. "Come along this way, Harry. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, stay put while I talk to Harry. And no eavesdropping!"

Everyone was silent as Harry and Mrs. Weasley walked out of the room, Harry's wand placed safely in his back pocket, but he could feel their eyes on him as he closed the door. No doubt they'd start whispering as soon as they were sure Harry was far away enough.

He trailed after Mrs. Weasley as she walked down the flight of stairs, walked quickly past a humming Fleur, and out the front door. Mrs. Weasley stopped there. It was only once the door was closed firmly behind them and a privacy ward set up that Ron's mum turned to him with a sickly look on her face. "What is it you wanted to talk about, Harry? Is something wrong?" she asked concernedly.

"It's not that. It's just. . ." Harry met Mrs. Weasley's anxious gaze. "I was wondering if it were possible for me to visit Gringotts sometime soon?"

The tension melted almost instantly from Mrs. Weasley's face. She laughed, obviously relieved that Harry hadn't told her anything disastrously serious. "Oh, of course you can! We'll be going there, well to Diagon Alley, really, the week before term begins to get all of this year's school supplies."

"But the thing is, Mrs. Weasley, that I'm not planning to go to purchase school supplies. You see, Sirius left me his belongings, Professor Dumbledore informed me yesterday, and I wanted to see how soon I can in. . .um, inherit them."

"I'm sorry?" Mrs. Weasley looked shocked, almost as if Harry had personally told her he wanted to leave Hogwarts.

"I don't care about the money," said Harry hastily, worried that that might be the reason for the stunned look on her face. His neck and ears turned red, and he looked down, mumbling the next words that left his mouth. "My parents left me enough money to last me until I graduate from Hogwarts, so no, money is not what I need. But in the beginning of fifth year, S-Sirius told me about - some artifacts - he said he wanted to show them to me but then - well he never got to, so, er, I wanted to see what they were, and since Hermione said that that's one way to officially and legally inherit someone's belongings - "

"Oh." whispered Mrs. Weasley faintly.

Harry glanced at her nervously. "Please, it probably won't take that long, I'm sure of it! I'll Floo there, take extra caution, whatever." He couldn't possibly tell her how much it meant for him to go to Gringotts as soon as possible, no matter how sick he felt underneath his eagerness at the thought of touching the things that'd belonged to Sirius. She couldn't possibly understand.

Now looking both agitated and still slightly surprised, Mrs. Weasley began wringing her hands, glancing between Harry and the door. She opened her mouth to speak, but just then, the front door opened. Trying to not scream his irritation at having been interrupted, Harry turned to see Fleur poking her head out the door. When she saw Harry standing out on the front porch with Mrs. Weasley, both of them in clear tension, a curious look flitted across her pretty face.

"'Arry! What are you doing out 'ere?" she exclaimed in surprise, stepping out onto the porch. The door fell open the rest of the way as she let go of it and Ginny, Ron, and Hermione were revealed, all three of them crouching on the second landing, their faces pressed against the stair expectantly. Harry's eyed narrowed. Had they been trying to overhear his conversation with Mrs. Weasley? Hermione and Ginny blushed a bright red, and stood up jerkily. They began to scold an aghast and furious Ron for spying on Harry.

"I - you two -you two were with me!" sputtered Ron angrily, his whole face equally as red as his hair; Harry turned his attention back to Fleur and Mrs. Weasley.

"Oh, I was talking to Mrs. Weasley," Harry told Fleur, then to Mrs. Weasley, "Please, Mrs. Weasley? It would mean a lot to me if I could go."

"Go, go where?" Ginny demanded, walking down the stairs towards them with her arms crossed over her chest and a serious look on her face. Hermione, then a grumpy-looking Ron, followed her a second later.

Harry avoided looking at them, desperately hoping Ron's mum would say yes. Otherwise, he wasn't allowed to go out of the Burrow without an adult, and he knew no other adult that would be willing to let him go. Wait. He looked sideways at Fleur, watching them with wide blue eyes as she ran a finger through her long silvery hair, seemingly untangling it, though Harry was sure not a single hair was out of place. When Mrs. Weasley didn't say anything for a long moment, Harry turned to the half-veela. "Fleur," said Harry determinedly. "You work at Gringotts, right?"

Fleur nodded.

"Could you, do you think you could take me there? I won't be long, I promise, but I have something I need to do there, and it's very important."

A smile broke out across Fleur's face. "Of course! Eet will be no trouble at all. Eet is 'ery boring 'ere, honestly. I will be glad to take you to Gringotts! When do you wish to leave, 'Arry?"

Harry grinned back at her, immensely pleased. His stomach growled at that very moment, drawing his attention back to the fact that he'd not had a single bite of food so far. "Great. Can we leave after I eat some breakfast? I didn't really eat anything since I was talking to Mrs. Weasley." he said, pretending to not notice the horrified look on Hermione and Ginny's faces, the furious one on Mrs. Weasley's, and the envious one on Ron's.

"Now wait just a moment!" cried Mrs. Weasley at the same time Fleur said, "You can eet some of the food I'm making for lunch in ze kitchen."

Mrs. Weasley spun on Fleur, a vein ticking in her neck, her smile forced. "No, no, no, don't you worry about taking Harry anywhere. _I_ will do that, of course, I have some things to buy anyways. Yes, thank you anyways, you can go back inside the kitchen." Ginny smirked, and batted her eyelashes in a crude but impressive imitation of Fleur behind the half-veela's turned back. Ron and Hermione stared at Harry silently.

Fleur shrugged. "Whatever. Bye, 'Arry." She turned and glided back inside the house, looking annoyed.

"Harry, Ron, Ginny, Hermione, go get your things. We're going to Diagon Alley today, it seems; you can eat here before we go, Harry. You have ten minutes, no more. All of you meet me down her in no less than fifteen minutes, or you're staying behind. Now, I need to go make a call. Or several. . ." And with that, Mrs. Weasley spun on her heel and stormed back inside the house, muttering angrily to herself under her breath about impulsive teenagers, no common sense, and staggering amounts of chores.

"Well, you certainly played your cards well, Harry," said Ginny brightly, turning to smile at him.

But Harry simply nodded distractedly to her as he himself made his way inside the Burrow and up the stairs, not noticing the looks his friends exchanged behind his back. He was too busy thinking, given this rare opportunity to go to Diagon Alley so early, if he needed anything while he was there. A box of Chocolate Frogs and other sweets from Honeydukes for sure, he was running low on candy. More ink as well, he was planning to, unfortunately, write a lot this summer. Then a journal as well . . . Yes, he would need a journal.

"So, Harry, what was all of that about?" asked Hermione. She watched as he sat down on his unmade bed, absently picking up the tray of food now gone cold. Ron joined her side, looking for all the world like he'd been given an early Christmas present.

"Hermione, what's that spell for heating up food again?"

" _Callesco_. But Harry, that's not the point, so don't try to change the subject. Why do you need to go to Gringotts _now_ , what is so important in there that it can't wait?"

Pointing his wand at his food, Harry muttered, _"Callesco."_ There was a flash of light and a tendril of steam rose from the tray. He looked up at Hermione as he shoveled scrambled eggs into his mouth forkful by forkful. She gave him a disgusted stare, never having liked the way he or Ron ate. "Sirius," he said through a mouthful of toast.

"Sirius? What's Sirius got to do with you going down to Gringotts?" said Ron, as he snatched a piece of Harry's toast. He sat down next to him, shaking his head. "Did he ask you to do something for him?"

Hermione's eyes widened in sudden understanding as Harry flinched.

"No, Ron! Harry's going to Gringotts to officially claim inheritance of the Black properties and belongings since Sirius named him Heir to the Black possessions if something ever happened to him, aren't you, Harry?" breathed Hermione, looking both awed and confused. Harry said nothing. Ron's eyes widened.

"Why didn't you say anything before?" he exclaimed.

Harry shrugged. "Dumbledore told me just yesterday at the Dursleys. I didn't know either, until then." He didn't mention the purposeful look Dumbledore'd given him.

Looking suspicious, Hermione eyed him through narrowed eyes. Harry tried not to show any signs of guilt. "What I don't get," she said at last, "is why right now? I'd have thought you wouldn't want anything belonging to the Blacks. You hate them!"

"Sirius was a Black," said Harry quietly.

Hermione groaned. "You know what I mean, Harry, so why are you so eager to come into your . . . inheritance? And I thought you couldn't inherit the whole of a house name until you came of age? You don't turn seventeen until next year."

Ron, looking pale, spoke up. "Actually," he said slowly, eyeing Harry, who was now avoiding his gaze and looking at the wall as if it held the secret to some old treasure, "there _is_ one way for Harry to come into his inheritance, even if he's not seventeen."

"How?" demanded Hermione instantly. She hadn't heard of such a thing in any of the books about wizarding affairs and politics.

"For that to be possible, the Patriarch, also known as the Head, of the family would have to be murdered," Harry said softly. The air was suddenly still, not a sound heard. Hermione's mouth snapped shut. "If the heir is not of age already, but close to it, possibly fifteen or sixteen years of age, it can be arranged for him or her to take over as the Head of the family. There'll be a test with the bond to the family heirlooms, a blood test as well, in some cases, to see if that person truly is the heir. Also to see if you're accepted. If you pass, you'll sign some paperwork and administer any changes. Then you're officially deemed the Head of the Family. If not well . . ."

"Oh." Hermione looked sorry she'd ever asked in the first place.

Nobody else said anything.

"Dumbledore's going to be giving me private lessons this year," said Harry after a long moment, as a way of easing the tension now hanging palpably in the air.

Ron choked on his bit of toast, and Hermione gasped.

"You kept that quiet!" said Ron.

"I only just remembered," said Harry honestly. "He told me last night in your broom shed." And like that, all thoughts of Sirius and Harry inheriting the Black valuables vanished.

"Blimey . . . private lessons with Dumbledore!" said Ron, looking impressed. I wonder why he's . . . ?"

His voice faded away. Harry saw him and Hermione exchange looks. Harry picked up his half-empty tray and set it on the table, not feeling at all hungry anymore. He turned to face his friends, his best friends. Dumbledore said he could do it . . . Why not now? They had a few more minutes if he was correct, plenty of time to tell them. He locked his gaze on his trainers as he shoved his feet inside and bent down to tie them, keeping his eyes fixed pointedly on his shoelaces as he said, "I don't know exactly why he's going to be giving me lessons, but it must be because of the prophecy."

Neither Ron nor Hermione spoke. Harry had the impression that both had frozen. He continued, still speaking to his shoelaces, "You know, the one they were trying to steal at the Ministry."

"Nobody knows what it said, though," said Hermione quickly. "It got smashed."

"Although the _Prophet_ says - " began Ron, but Hermione said, "Shh!"

"The _Prophet_ 's got it right," said Harry, looking at them both with a great effort; Hermione seemed frightened and Ron amazed. "That glass ball that smashed wasn't the only record of the prophecy. I heard the whole thing in Dumbledore's office, he was the one the prophecy was made to, so he could tell me. From what it said," Harry took a deep breath, "it looks like I'm the one who's got to finish off Voldemort . . . At least, it said neither of us could live while the other survives."

The three of them gazed at each other for a moment in utter silence. Harry had the impression time had frozen, everything was so still. Then the door opened and in barged Ginny, dressed in a ridiculously long red shirt with a moving broom on the front, _Quidditch_ written at the top in bold, blocky letters that fluttered as if by an invisible wind, and casual blue jeans.

"You lot better get downstairs soon," chirped Ginny happily, oblivious to the shock and unease in the air or the words Harry had just spoken.

"Right," agreed Harry, straightening. He grabbed his vault key, made sure his wand was in his pocket, and started walking downstairs with Ginny, purposefully keeping his face forward. He reckoned Ron and Hermione needed a little time to think over what Harry'd told them, and decide if they still wanted to be his friends. He wouldn't blame them if they didn't. Who'd want to be friends with someone who was always getting in trouble and had death and chaos following them everywhere they went?

"Are you okay? You look a bit pale." said Ginny as Harry looked back up at the still opened door. Hermione and Ron were still in there. He turned back round, trying to convince himself that their non-immediate arrival was nothing.

"Yeah, I'm totally fine." he muttered, walking faster.

"You sure? You're looking like you're coming on with the flu or something. We could always go to Gringotts another day, if that happened."

"I said I'm fine, Ginny!" snapped Harry. Guilt surged when he looked at Ginny's hurt and angry face. But he was too riled up at the thought that Ron and Hermione might not want anything to do with him ever again to care. They were the only two people he really considered his friends, the ones he truly trusted with his secrets. The thought of losing them made his insides twist and shrivel up.

He hurried down the last steps quickly, suddenly breathless.

At the bottom, Harry saw Mrs. Weasley talking to a group of people, their backs turned to him as they conversed heatedly. He couldn't see who they were, but then one of the persons turned to respond to something someone else said, and he saw the face of someone all too familiar. "Tonks?"

Spinning around, a witch with mousy brown hair and a pale heart-shaped face looked back at him, surprised. "Wotcher, Harry," she said, attempting a smile. Harry thought she looked rather sick. Her face was derived of its usual cheeriness, instead now lined with a sort of wariness and anger.

"Hi, are you coming with to Diagon Alley?"

Tonks shrugged, nodded awkwardly. "Yeah. Have to," she said glumly. Harry furrowed his eyebrows.

"What do you mean you have to?" he asked.

Tonks looked at him in mild surprise. "You don't know?" she whispered, aghast. "You-Know-Who raided several town yesterday, early this morning as well, Harry, it's been headline news for several hours. The whole wizarding world is in terrible panic."

Harry felt his blood go cold. "What?" he said. "Voldemort attacked more Muggle towns?"

Now Tonks' eyes were definitely wide.

Before she could answer, Mrs. Weasley came shuffling over, her face holding one of who'd just heard their dog was dead. Her smile was forced and totally unconvincing. "Are you ready, dear? We have to go quickly if we're going to go today, not a lot of time - so much to do - Fred and George, oh Merlin - oh no worry, I'll see them soon, I will. Where are Ron and Hermione?"

"Upstairs. They'll be down soon. Mrs. Weasley where did - where did Voldemort attack yesterday?"

Mrs. Weasley froze. Her eyes drifted to Tonks, who shrugged and glared back at her with a hint of her usual unrestrained fierceness. Obviously, she didn't like it that Harry had, once again, been left in the dark about things. Mrs. Weasley's shoulders sagged, her smile wilting away. "We didn't want to upset you so soon after coming here with news like that, Harry, but well, I guess it was inevitable. Thank you for informing Harry so kindly of the attacks, Tonks." said Mrs. Weasley. She turned misty eyes toward Harry.

"The Dark Lord attacked eleven wizarding cities yesterday. Fourteen, Harry! He also attacked three Muggle ones, totaling the attacks to fourteen towns and cities. Four of the wizarding towns, they are now completely bare of all Muggle-borns - The attacks started at nine in the night yesterday and ended at three in the morning today. I wanted to go help - but Dumbledore strictly told Arthur and me to stay home." She seemed to try very hard not to cry. Harry stared at her silently, shocked. Voldemort had gotten rid of all the Muggle-borns in four cities? And he'd killed people in fourteen cities? He leaned against the railing as anger and horror filled him. How? Dumbledore would've said something if he'd known!

"Mum, is everything all right? What's this Ginny says about a squad of Aurors and the Order being down in the front hall?" shouted Ron. He came running down the stairs, two steps at a time, anxious to see with his own eyes the amount of Aurors downstairs. Harry heard him come to an abrupt halt as he took in the grim faces, Mrs. Weasley on the verge of tears, and Harry gripping the railing tightly. "What's going on? Mum, what happened?"

When no one said anything, Tonks said, very meekly, "You-Know-Who struck once again, Ron. Fourteen towns and cities in total. Four wizarding ones were stripped of all Muggle-borns."

"What?" squealed Hermione's voice.

Harry looked up to see her standing next to Ron, Ginny behind them both, a dark look on her face. Seeing his face, Hermione came running down the stairs. Harry expected her to blame him, tell him they were no longer friends, or something equally horrible, so he was completely thrown off guard when Hermione threw her arms around Harry and hugged him tight. For a moment, he stared wide-eyed at Ron, stunned, who looked quite surprised as well, and then Ron, too, was hugging them both.

"Get that silly look off your face, we'll always be by your side, mate, there's nothing getting rid of us two." mumbled Ron, grinning at the immensely relieved look on Harry's face.

"You didn't honestly think I, Ron and I, I mean, were going to leave you just because of _that_ , did you?" whispered Hermione incredulously. She took a look at Harry's face and pulled back to give him a sharp blow over the head. "Harry!" She lowered her voice. "We wondered, after we got back from the Ministry . . . Obviously, we didn't say anything to you, but from what Lucius Malfoy said about the prophecy, how it was about you and Voldemort, well, we thought it might be something like this . . . Oh, Harry . . . Are you scared?"

"Not as much as I was," said Harry. "When I first heard it, I was . . . but now, it seems as though I always knew I'd face him in the end . . ."

"We'll never leave you, Harry, ever," said Hermione fiercely, and Ron nodded in agreement.

He smiled at her. Ron and Hermione's decision to not leave him meant more to him then he could've imagined, so much he nearly forgot about the situation at hand. But then he looked at Mrs. Weasley and his smile faded. "What will happen now then, with Voldemort having killed again?"

Smiling shakily at him, Mrs. Weasley said, "Well, we'll talk about this later. No use discussing that right now, now is there? Right now, dear, you need to decide if you still want to go to Gringotts. I can't assure you it won't be hard to get into, for I'm sure it will, but if you still want to go - Well, really, the choice is up to you."

Harry looked at the faces of the people around him, waiting for his decision. If he didn't go, no one would get hurt, he could talk to Ron and Hermione about what he'd learned safely up in his room. But that would also be hiding, something Harry was sick of doing. And if they went, someone might get hurt, Voldemort might attack. He looked at Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Ginny. He knew they were eager to see Fred and George to check if the twins were okay, as did Harry himself. But were the Weasleys' concerns enough to let Harry risk one of them getting hurt? Harry hesitated, then clenched his jaw. To hell with it all.

"How do we get there?" said Harry at last, eyeing the dozen or so people inside the Burrow. Somehow he doubted Floo would be it, not with what Sirius had told him about the Death Eaters keeping a careful eye on the Floo networks.

A dark-skinned wizard that Harry recognized as Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped up. "We'll be traveling by Apparation today, Potter. Safer option than Floo or Portkey right now. Weasleys, go with Tonks and Lupin" - Harry stiffened. Remus was here? Sure enough, a second later, a ragged-looking man walked forward from behind a thicker, taller wizard with shaggy blonde hair. Remus didn't even glance at him as he headed for Ginny, who - "Granger, you're with Molly, Potter, you're with me. The rest of you, you know the formation!" barked Shacklebolt.

"Are we Apparating outside of the Leaky Cauldron or directly in Diagon Alley?" asked Harry as he grabbed on to Shacklebolt's arm, tearing his eyes away from Remus forcibly. He watched blankly as the remaining Aurors and Order members positioned themselves around the four pair so they were encircled by witches and wizards on all sides. In the end, it ended up looking like a diamond of some sort, with Harry and Kingsley Shacklebolt near the front.

"Diagon Alley, it's too dangerous to be spotted outside the Leaky Cauldron nowadays. Well, enough chitchat, we've no time for that. Potter, hold on tight to my arm."

Harry felt Kingsley's arm twist away from him a second later and tightened his grip on the other wizard's arm; the next thing he knew, everything went pitch-black. He was being pressed very hard from all directions, he was being suffocated, he couldn't breathe. someone had tightened gotten hold of his heart and was squeezing hard; his eyeballs were being pushed back, back into his head; his eardrums were being pushed deeper into his skull and then -

Harry was gasping in great lungfuls of fresh, cool air and he opened his streaming eyes. It felt as if he'd been forced through a very tight rubber tube. Looking up, he realized that the Burrow was gone to be replaced by shops and rough stone streets.

He stared.

Diagon Alley had changed. The color appeared to have been drained from the atmosphere, they were still there but they looked unrealistic and faded now next to the dozens of Ministry of Magic posters that had been pasted over the front windows of shops. A majority of the purple-colored posters held the security advice on the Ministry pamphlets, but there were others showing moving black-and-white pictures of Death Eaters known to be free and with Voldemort. He dropped his eyes, hatred prickling underneath his skin when he saw the sneering face of Bellatrix Lestrange on the window of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, which like other shops around it, was boarded up. Kingsley grunted at the shabby-looking stalls set up around the street.

"No more decent shops what with those damn Death Eaters on the loose," he grumbled, slapping Harry's hand away sharply as Harry reached for a serving of pumpkin juice from a woman holding out a long, thin black tray to passerby. "Mind your hands, Potter! It won't do any of us any good if you were to suddenly drop dead in the middle of the street, now would it?"

"I wasn't going to drink it!" he protested angrily, putting away the Galleon that'd been in his hand. Why was it that whenever tried to do something, people always assumed he was doing something wrong or dangerous? He glowered at Kingsley's back as they kept on walking, completely aware of the whispers floating across the streets.

" . . . dead before we know it. Never going to last another day . . . "

"Eleven wizarding towns! You-Know-Who, he'll never stop, will he? Should've moved to France with Berrybet when I had the chance, I should've. . . "

"When will this all end? I've got me kids at home, promised them I'd return, not die - "

" . . . That Harry Potter, he's our only hope now. I really _do_ hope he's as good as they say, otherwise we're goners for sure . . . "

"'The Chosen One' they call him now. You reckon it's true? I sure hope it is, then - "

Harry tuned them all out. What good would it do, listening to the voices that wondered at their own deaths as he sat by calmly, having no clue how he was going to defeat the darkest wizard in the world?

"Hey, cheer up, lass," said the wizard in front of him, brushing back black dreadlocks. Harry looked at him blankly and he chuckled gaily. "I know it must be hard for ye, them all saying yer the 'Chosen One', but we were all given our roles in life fer a reason, 'right? Don't ye worry 'bout it. Destiny will take its course, ain't nothing that gonna stop that, no matter how hard ye try. It always do in the end, it always do."

"What?" said Harry, confused. What the hell did that mean, 'destiny would take its course' and 'we were all given our roles in life fer a reason'? Was this guy trying to mess around him him?

"Leave him alone, Pontyr." boomed Kingsley. He nudged Harry. "Don't pay attention to him, Harry. He talks like this sometimes. He has it in mind that while are lives are ours, they're not, or some rubbish like that. Nothing more than a side effect from falling twenty-five feet to the ground, I assure you. But he's still good at fighting, no worries there."

"Okay, yeah," said Harry, edging away from Pontyr, who gave him a knowing smile that he didn't like at all.

"You okay, mate?" Ron came up, a silent Tonks behind him, her hand clutching her wand tightly. He fell into step besides Harry, looking tense. Harry raised his eyebrows and Ron grinned sheepishly. "It's not about you know what - just, d'you reckon Fred and George are alright? Mum's on the verge of having a meltdown, she's so worried, talking Ginny and Hermione's ear off over in the back. I don't think I can handle anymore of her babbling if it turns out they're not alright, she'll drive me madder than a hatter." He laughed, but Harry could easily detect the worry in his voice.

"I'm sure they'll be alright, Ron, they're clever and talented wizards. They can hold their own against the Death Eaters," said Harry firmly. But he wasn't so sure. The Weasley brothers truthfully _were_ very clever and good at spells, but would they be enough against five Death Eaters? Ten? A whole group? He'd seen what Lucius and his little friends could do back at the Ministry.

Ron, however, seemed to believe Harry (or he was trying to anyways) because he said, slightly more cheerfully, "Yeah, you're probably right. They're fine."

"We're here."

Kingsley's voice made Ron and Harry look up eagerly. Harry, for one, had no desire to linger outside any more than he had to. He could feel the crowd of people trying to confirm their suspicions to see if Harry Potter really was in the midst of heavily armed Aurors, or it was just some rich, paranoid pure-blood.

"Good, I can't wait to get this over with." he muttered, walking up the white stone steps, Ron and Hermione (she'd ran up to them as they began climbing) next to him. They walked through the bronze door, then the silver one, and out into a vast marble hall.

Harry wasn't at all surprised that the security had increased. More than a dozen guards, both wizards and a few goblins, lined the entrance, and a scanner had been set up near the door. A guard eyed them suspiciously as they passed by, his hand on his wand, ready to strike at the first sign of danger. More than a hundred goblins sat on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling furiously in ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. The same as usual then. Harry shouldn't really have been surprised. The goblins kept on working and running their businesses, paying apparently no mind to the wizarding wars and chaos going on around them. It wasn't their problem, so they weren't overly concerned. Harry began walking towards the counter.

"Hello," he said politely to the nearest free goblin. It was never wise to anger a goblin, everyone knew that. "I've come to talk to the Black Family goblin, please."

"Black? Who are you, I ask, sir?" asked the goblin, peering down at Harry as if he didn't already know the answer.

Harry said, quite awkwardly, "Harry Potter, sir, Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. S-Sirius Orion Black, my godfather that is, Lord Black - he. . .died recently."

"And you are here to inherit that of which Lord Black left to you?" said the goblin, looking slightly pleased at Harry's chosen words.

"Yes, sir."

"Very well." he said, steeling his long fingers on top of each other. "I will have someone take you to the Black Family goblin, Fang. Griphook!"

A short, ugly goblin in a curious maroon suit came ambling forward, his swarthy, clever face knowing. "Follow me this way, if you may, Mr. Potter." He turned and walked off without bothering to see if they followed. Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed him quickly as he passed through door after closed door, surnames spelled out in gold letters on the front. Harry squinted at them as they passed by. Lovegood. Walker. Parkinson. Fallierr. Yaxley. Greengrass.

They finally stopped in front of a black door with _Black_ written out on the front in tall, elegant letters. Griphook knocked once. "Come in." Opening the door, Griphook bowed to Harry, much to Harry's horror and humiliation.

"In you go, Mr. Potter." He _tsk_ ed at Hermione as she made to walk in, one finger jabbed up at her disapprovingly. "Not you. Only family members and heirs are allowed inside. Are you a Black?"

"No," stammered Hermione who flushed a deep red. She stepped back, bowing her head apologetically, looking extremely embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"Wait," said Harry as the goblin gestured inside once more. He turned to look at the several faces in the hall, desperately seeking one with a pale heart-shaped face. "Tonks, she can come right? She has Black blood running through her veins, she's a family member. Tonks, where are you?"

There was a silence, then, very slowly, a woman pushed her way through. "I can't," Tonks said, looking at Harry blankly. "My mum got disowned by the Blacks ages ago, Harry, which means since she's not part of the family, neither am I. Sorry." She didn't look sorry at all.

"Nonsense," said Harry fiercely. "You're still a Black, you got the blood. You'll be good enough. Come on. I'm not going in without you."

Tonks hesitated, glancing at the goblin wearily, waiting for him to say she couldn't because she wasn't a true Black, but Griphook didn't object. Her face fell. Harry bit back a smile. "Go," Kingsley urged, nodding towards the door. "Harry won't go in otherwise, I'm sure. You know he's stubborn, that one."

The last of Tonks' protest crashed underneath Kingsley and Harry's insistent stares. "Fine, I'll go, I'll go." Looking sick to her stomach, Tonks slipped inside the quiet room, looking dejectedly at Harry as she did so. Smiling bravely at the rest - Ron nodded encouragingly and gave him the thumbs up, and Hermione smiled wanly - Harry murmured his thanks to Griphook and walked inside the room too. He flinched as the door slammed shut behind him almost ominously.

"Ah, the famous Harry Potter." A formal, clipped voice had Harry spinning around and immediately expecting the worst, and then stopping at the weird sight before him. A goblin a pressed black suit and dark wine-red tie sat behind a long, dark desk drinking from a bright blue cup the size of his head. Beady black eyes sunk into an emaciated, pointy face assessed him shrewdly, looking for a weakness. "How very nice of you to grace someone such as myself with your presence."

"Hello and thank you, sir, the honour is mine." said Harry in what he hoped was a formal, calm voice. The goblin's thin lips pulled up.

"Yes," murmured the goblin. He cut his eyes to a stiff Tonks, eyes narrowing slightly. "Please do take a seat, both of you. We have much to discuss today."

With a short nod, Harry and Tonks sat down in one of the softest materials Harry'd ever felt. To his surprise, the armchair didn't swallow him under the soft weight, but supported him as if it were made of hardened wood. He smiled blithely at the goblin's raised brow.

"So, down to business now. I've been informed that you, Mr. Potter, wish to inherit what Lord Sirius Black left to you before his unfortunate death, as his heir?"

"Yes, that is the plan." Harry paused. "Sir, may I ask what your name is?"

Looking pleased that Harry'd finally caught on to the otherwise-postponed introductions, the goblin said, "My name is Fang, Mr. Potter. I am the Black family goblin, and have been serving as such for decades."

"Nice to meet you, er, Fang." He paused. "About the inheritance . . . I know my visit was unexpected, so before I say anything else, do you happen to have Sirius's will? He did leave one, right?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." Opening out a thick folder set beside his drink, he pulled out a tightly furled piece of parchment. How the parchment was still perfectly rolled up after spending who knew how long in a perfectly flat folder, Harry had no idea. Fang unfolded the parchment carefully, breaking the seal of wax on it. He smoothed the paper out flat and looked up slowly, assessing. "Would you like to read it yourself, Mr. Potter, or would you prefer that I read it you aloud?"

Harry hesitated. He glanced at Tonks, whose face was one of blankness. "I don't want to read it," she said without looking at him.

Harry turned to nod at Fang. "Right. Could you read it aloud then?"

Fang sat up straighter in his chair and cleared his throat, then, in a clear, crisp voice, he read:

" _I, Sirius Orion Black, of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, of sound body and mind (this not being completely true but alas) do hereby announce that all of what is here on this parchment is to be my official and only valid will. Filed on April 26, 1996. To those who are in attendance, I say hello and goodbye. Mourn not for me but for those who have fates worse than I, for I assume I died a dramatic death. I love you (names shall not be stated, for those know whether or not I speak of them) and please do not blame yourselves for my death. That will be pointless, and should I still be alive, will only result in causing me pain and anger. I died how I died, and that is no one's fault but my own. Besides, look on the bright side, I won't be alone in death! James Potter (everyone has heard of him, I'm sure), my best friend, would never let me be more bored than necessary._

 _Now, to start with, I would like to ask that the goblin overseeing this, preferably Fang, give each of the Weasleys 10, 000 Galleons with the exception of Percy Weasley. Thank you, all of you, for being there for Harry as his family during all these years I couldn't be there. No, this is not charity, Molly, Arthur, this is a_ gift _of my gratitude, so please consider it as such. To Hermione Granger, please give her 5, 000 Galleons and free enrollment into the Witches' Book Club. Thank you for being such a loyal, good friend towards Harry, Hermione. You forever have my thanks and respect._

 _For Remus Lupin, my old friend, I leave you 5 million Galleons. Friend of mine, brother, please don't refuse it. The money I give to you out of love. Buy all that you might need, party, do whatever you want with it. It's yours. I'll always miss you, Moony. You've been one of the greatest friends the world has ever seen. May we meet again later on. . ._

 _To Albus Dumbledore. . .Albus, I allow you to keep using you-know-what for as long as necessary, so long as Harry remains Keeper. I believe you capable of looking out for Harry, he trusts you, so please do. Don't let any harm come to him. That is all I ask of you. Thank you._

 _To Nymphadora Tonks: I lament that we didn't get a chance to ever get to know each other well, Dora. I imagine we would've gotten along quiet nicely. Nevertheless, I leave the Tonks family 10.5 million Galleons, Merlin forbid you should ever have to work again. And, as a farewell gift, I welcome Nymphadora and Andromeda Tonks back into the family as Blacks, as they should've been from the start. In the process, I also renounce Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy from the family - Draco Malfoy, no matter how spiteful you may be, or how arrogant, you have no fault for your parents' actions, so you will remain part of the family, if you so wish. (Know that you are to treat Harry with respect if you choose to remain part of the family Black, and that you are not to harm a hair on his body, especially not hand him over to the Dark Lord. You would be foolish to even attempt so. Also, you are to ask permission if you wish to enter certain Black properties) If not, well. . .there is nothing I can do about that. Don't make the same mistakes as your parents and aunt, Draco. That is all I have to say._

 _And last but not least, Harry James Potter. Harry, you are my godson, so you should know that my love for you is immense, I would never let you get hurt, not while I was still alive at least. You'll never know how bad I felt knowing that my time with you was limited - Yes, Harry, I knew something would soon happen that would remove me from you all, though I know not what exactly. At any rate, I want to let you know this: be happy, fall in love. I don't care with whom, dark or light, pure-blood or not, girl or boy, human or animal. Just open up your heart and let the people who love you in, don't push them away. Please. And, shocking myself most at what I'm about to do, I ask for you to talk to Snape. Tell him that I'm sorry for all that I did to him. I'd never get the courage to it myself. He isn't such a horrible man, Snape, sure he can be a git but - never mind. Ignore the ramblings of an old man. Just do as I ask, it's important he knows I'm sorry._

 _I leave to you, Harry, everything that I own, all my properties, money (Muggle and Wizard), stocks, everything. All of the Blacks is now yours. You, and how I can imagine the look on your face at this, I leave all of the Black vaults and title of 'Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black'. By doing so, I am letting you tap into adulthood one year early, so you will, from this day onward, now officially be an adult. I can imagine this will be shocking for you, but it'll open up several opportunities for you as well, Harry, think closely about it. Enjoy your life, and do try to stay alive. I don't want to see you in the afterlife anytime soon, you hear?_

 _Once again, for those who cared for me as I cared for you, do not grieve over my death for long. I'd much prefer it if you threw party instead of a funeral, we must remain happy during hard times so as to not give Voldemort the satisfaction of seeing us scared. As someone always said, there is light in even the darkest of places if one just remembers to turn on the light. And, oh yes, a personal favourite of mine, "Stars cannot shine without darkness." Do well in remembering that, friends of mine."_

By the time Fang was done reading the will aloud, both Tonks and Harry were an emotional mess. Tonks had a look of disbelief crossed with pain and guilt on her face, as she stared ahead unblinkingly, her hair now a duller, gloomier brown than before. Harry stared down at his lap to hide the tears in his eyes, and the pain that would've shown clearly on his face should he have been looking up. His throat was tight, his heart stuttering painfully in his chest. Although Harry himself hadn't known Sirius that long, he'd grown close to his godfather, the only family he'd had left. Sirius had slowly began filling in the space that even his friends nor the Weasleys ever could, slowly making Harry truly happy, letting him catch a glimpse of what it was he'd been missing for years . . . and then he'd been murdered. The flame in his heart was snuffed out and coldness steadily seeped back in.

Harry cleared his throat, wiping his eyes hastily. There was no reason to look weaker than he already did. Forcing in slow, deep breaths through his nose, he looked up as calmly as he could. "Is that all that Sirius wrote in his will?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter." said Fang evenly, studying Harry closely. "But he did ask that I give you something he thought you should have personally." He snapped his fingers, and with a pop, a black box came rocketing from underneath the desk, likely from one of the drawers. Without Fang lifting a finger, the top of the box snapped open, letting out a faint hiss much like sizzling metal, and Fang pushed the box toward Harry silently.

Tonks sucked in a sharp breath.

Harry stared down at the box's contents wordlessly. Nestled in between a bed of deep green velvet, winking gently against the light of the room, lay a ring. But not just any ring, Harry knew. No, this ring was made of what appeared to be sterling silver, a very thin band of gold weaving throughout the band intricately, almost like leaves but not quite. Directly in the middle, there was what Harry assumed to be a raven and a hand clutching a wand, the raven made of brilliant gold and the hand-with-the-wand of rubies. There were two other ravens on each side of the band in the middle, their tails spread lavishly, fashioned not of onyx or rubies but out of emeralds.

"What is it?" asked Harry, tearing his eyes away from the ring to look suspiciously at Fang. No one needed to tell him the ring was very important, he could see that by the ridiculous expensiveness and obvious oldness of the ring, which seemed to emanate endless torrents of power and wealth.

Smiling an amused, eerie sort of smile, Fang said, in as much of a smooth voice as he could manage, "Why that is the Black ring of course, the one which all the Heads or Patriarch of the family wear, to show that they are in control and hold all of the power."

"Sirius, he was supposed to wear it as the rightful Lord after Regulus died, but he refused," explained Tonks, still eyeing the ring with an expression of melancholic awe.

Harry stared at her uncertainly. "So, do I have to, er, _wear_ it?" he said nervously. He glanced at the ring. He had no doubt that if he _did_ wear it, the ring would be in ruins by the end of the month. Harry had no specialty in taking care of things, especially not old, costly rings.

"Not to worry, Mr. Potter. The ring was spelled to protect against ruin, remain spotless no matter how dirty a state you may be, and to remain on your hand until death. Not a soul would be able to pry the Black ring off your finger by any means, Muggle or magic."

"Oh." said Harry. But he still made no move to grab the ring.

"Just take it, Harry, go on," said Tonks, pushing the box into Harry's hands.

A sudden idea struck Harry like a bolt of lightning.

"No," he said firmly. Fang raised an eyebrow indignantly and Tonks stared incredulously. "I won't put on the ring unless you decide to join the Blacks, your mum too. I know you don't want to, but please. Sirius wants, _wanted_ , you to."

Tonks didn't say anything but her face hardened. For a moment, Harry thought she would jinx him, the look on her face was so angry, but then the anger vanished so suddenly Harry blinked. Had he imagined it? "Alright then," she said, smiling faintly. She extended her hand. "You have got yourself a deal, Harry James Potter."

"You're not going to argue or say no?" said Harry, shocked.

Tonks' mouth twitched and a trace of warmth filled her eyes. "'Course not, Harry. You're my Head now, ain't no arguing with you lest you blast me off the family tree." Harry's mouth fell open. Had Tonks, so serious and pale lately, just made a joke?

Dazedly, and feeling as if he'd somehow been tricked himself, he grabbed the box and carefully lifted the ring off its bed of green velvet. "Uh - where does the ring go?" stammered Harry, cheeks flushing.

"Family rings such as the one for the family Black go on your index finger, but it may also go on your nuptial finger, if you are unmarried. Whichever you prefer." sang Fang, looking highly amused at the fact that Harry didn't know on which finger to put family rings on.

Harry scowled, resisting the urge to jinx the smirk off the goblin's face (that would only succeed in making an enemy out of someone he couldn't afford to, not with the war so close) as he slid the ring - which was surprisingly light - onto his second finger. Suddenly, almost scaring the living daylights out of Harry, a bright, vivid blue light burst from the ring on his finger and a loud crack filled the air. Harry stiffened as a rush of warmth unexpectedly coursed through his body, which felt intensely as if he were being cocooned in warm silk. A faint humming filled his ears, and then it was gone, leaving no traces whatsoever of what'd just happened. "What was that - the light, the warmth?"

"That was, I believe, the transfer of power from one Head to the other. You are now, officially, the Head of Black. Welcome, Lord Potter-Black, of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black." And then, to Harry's complete mortification, Fang proceeded to stand up on his chair, grinning darkly, and bowed low at the waist.

"Is that all? Am I allowed to leave now?" said Harry quickly, his neck and ears flaming red as Tonks snickered and Fang sat down again.

"Yes, I believe so, Mr. Potter-Black." Fang slid out a key from inside the will folder, his face once again deathly serious. He placed a gold, flat card in Harry's hand. "That will be the key to the Black vaults there. I'll have a copy of Sirius Black's will send to Black Manor within a few hours, which you'll find you'll be able to reach by the translation to French, unless you'd prefer the original for personal safekeeping?"

"No. No, I'll take the copy, thank you." He never knew the Blacks had their own manor. Sirius had never mentioned it before. Probably because he hated his family as much as the Dursleys hate you, a small voice whispered. Harry ignored it.

"And, would you, Mr. Potter-Black, like for the others mentioned within the will to come inside and be informed of their part, or would you prefer to tell them yourselves?"

Without missing a beat, Harry said, "I'll inform them, Fang, thank you. Oh, but please inform the Malfoys of their part. . . Right now, I'm not . . . I'm not on speaking terms with them, and I'm sure they'd prefer your company to mine. And please leave the Black vault untouched, I want the Potter and Black vaults separate."

Fang nodded shortly as Harry and Tonks stood up. "As you wish, Mr. Potter. I shall have Griphook escort you back to the main hall."

As if he'd been waiting outside the whole time, the door opened at that very moment, and there stood Griphook in his ugly little suit. "Thank you, Fang. May your gold prosper and your enemies die a very painful death." Harry told Fang, his voice polite once more. Fang bared his sharp, pointy teeth in a twisted echo of a smile. Harry turned and exit from the room with Tonks, placing the gold cart inside his pocket.

Outside in the hallway, he stopped, blinked at the sudden change of light.

"So, what happened in there, anything interesting?" demanded Hermione, coming up to Harry as soon as the door was closed.

Harry shrugged, startled. "Nothing really interesting. Fang, the family goblin, that is, read the will aloud and I was officially named Head of the Black family."

"Nothing?" exclaimed Ron loudly. "Mate, you were in there for an hour! What d'you mean 'nothing interesting' happened?"

Tonks was suddenly besides Harry, glaring angrily at Ron. "Bugger off, Ron. If Harry doesn't want to talk about it, don't push it."

Ron stared back at her accusingly. "So what, now you're back to your old self, no more acting like Moaning Myrtle, all mopey and feeling _sorry_ for yourself?" he said scornfully, ears red. He hated being admonished by an adult, especially a female. Tonks whipped out her wand, her face suddenly pale. Harry quickly got in front of Ron, uneasy on behalf of his best friend, daft as he was at that time. He didn't doubt that if pushed too far, Tonks would curse Ron into being sorry he'd ever opened his mouth.

"It's okay, Tonks, really, don't curse his mouth off. He's just curious, is all." Tonks nodded slowly, very reluctantly lowering her wand with a glare at Ron, who swallowed tightly. With a pat on Harry's arm, she turned briskly on her heel to go talk to Mrs. Weasley, who had a look of burning curiosity on her face. Sighing, Harry turned to an annoyed Hermione and green Ron. "Look, when we went in there, Tonks wasn't really in a happy mood, she didn't want to hear any part of Sirius's will, it looked like she was a piece of wood, she was so stiff and quiet. But then - the deal is, in his will, Sirius welcome her and her mum back into the family. I think this, that Sirius considered them his family, made her feel less guilty about. . .Well, it made her less guilty somehow, because she's okay now. She's _okay_." He didn't know how he knew but he did. Tonks was no longer blaming herself for Sirius's death. Or at least not quite so much.

"Harry," said Ron in a low, serious voice, catching the look on his best friend's face, "did anything else happen in there?"

Harry nodded, opening his mouth to tell him and Hermione what had been written in the will, but then paused when he saw that Pontyr was listening in closely. "I'll tell you back at the Burrow." he said at last, continuing to walk at a slow pace. He looked up as a looming black shadow obscured half his vision.

"Alright there, Harry?" Kingsley clapped Harry on the back once, almost sending him crashing to the floor by the force behind it.

"Yeah," muttered Harry distractedly, having spotted Remus up ahead, who was talking amiably with a laughing Ginny whilst Tonks stared, an extremely odd look on her face. He glanced at Ron, Hermione, Tonks, then Remus once more. "Look. I was wondering, would it be okay if I talked to a goblin about what my parents left me before we left to visit Fred and George?"

"That can easily be arranged," said Griphook eagerly, clearly confident he'd be the goblin to talk to.

"Good, thank you. I also need to stop by the Black vaults afterwards. There's something I need in there."

* * *

Many miles away from Diagon Alley, halfway in the middle of nowhere, lay Malfoy Manor. A forest consisting of thick, green foliage and paranormal, inhuman creatures roaming freely, unafraid of humans - of Muggles - surrounded high stone walls, which stretched across for several miles in all directions to form a large, wide circle. Nevertheless, clusters of trees from within hid the walls from prying eyes, for inside the walls, amongst neatly trimmed hedges, a gleaming blue lake, a round field meant for sport-playing, and elaborate gardens worthy of royalty on the other, including a fountain, was Malfoy Manor.

Malfoy Manor, named so because of its ridiculously wealthy inhabitants, appeared, to one's eyes, to be more of a castle than a mansion. Indeed, made of polished, smooth, white marble, it stretched six stories high, quite a few steel spires rising from the top of the manor house. The downstairs windows were diamond-paneled and stylishly made. Intricate ivory columns supported the Manor's heavy structure. Overall, the manor house was very handsome but terrifying in size, giving off the strong impression of wealth and influence.

But even more impressive than the Manor were the Manor residents themselves. Dripping in gold, with power that, while diminishing, made most people feel small and unimportant and know that they were not ones to be taken lightly, they were the Malfoys. The Malfoys were a pure-blood wizarding family - this meant that they didn't have Muggle (the term for non-magic people) or creature (werewolves, Veela, goblins, faeries, etc.) blood running through their veins, only that of ones who were of magical blood. There was the Head of family, Lucius Malfoy; then his wife, Narcissa Malfoy (née Black); and then the Malfoy heir, Draco Lucius Malfoy, the only son to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. The Malfoys, simply put, were very adamant in their beliefs that the Wizarding World shouldn't interact or allow anyone not born to parents with magical blood to enter their world. Such a thing was an abomination and ought to be illegal, they believed. Half-Bloods, ones who had magical and non-magical parents, and Muggleborns (witches or wizards born to Muggles), were impure and had no right to be allowed to co-exist with the _true_ witches and wizards.

This belief, and several more, were what made the pure-blooded wizard, Lucius Malfoy, join sides with another wizard, Lord Voldemort, whose goal was to eliminate the Wizarding World of all Muggleborns and Half-Bloods. But the only major result this had for Lucius was guarantee him a lifetime spot in the wizard prison, Azkaban. And to throw his son's whole life off balance.

From the vintage point of the windows of one of his several rooms on the third landing of Malfoy manor, stood Draco Malfoy, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared out the crystalized window below. A sneer curled his lips as he watched one of the household peacocks that his parents were so proud of glare at another of its companions before turning away haughtily.

"What are you doing now?" said a sudden exasperated voice from behind, startling Draco into whipping out his wand as he whirled round, pointing it at the intruder.

"Mother!" gasped Draco, upon seeing the pale, fine-looking face of one Narcissa Malfoy staring at him with appalled surprise. He lowered his wand hastily, which'd been pointed at his mother's face threateningly. "I, what are you doing here? Has something happened?"

"Can I not visit my own son now, then, without being questioned for the motives behind? Has your father really affected us this much that we now mistrust each other?" snapped Narcissa Malfoy, her eyes straying toward her son's wand. Her face softened considerably when Draco looked at her, face stricken. "Draco, dear, I apologize. You know I didn't mean that, I'm sorry."

"It's fine, Mother." His mother, he knew, was suffering more than he. "I should be the one apologizing, pointing my wand at you. That was my mistake, and I have no excuse for it." Draco paused, looked down, then back up, peering at the exhaustion lining his mother's face as she stood there, shivering despite the fire crackling in the hearth. "Still, has something happened? You look horribly tired."

"It's those reporters," began Narcissa angrily, "hounding after us day and night, waiting for a sign of vulnerability to pounce on, to tear us to shreds. One would think they have nothing else to talk about, the amount of letters we get!"

"Yes, Merlin's beard, they are unsupportable. Gotten tired of talking about the 'Chosen One' and the Dark Lord, have they? Even when they have more recent news to gossip about?"

"Draco, careful with the words you speak. One could always be listening!" gasped Narcissa, looking over her shoulder fearfully as if expecting the Dark Lord to be standing behind her, wand in hand. Draco bowed his head, face paling.

"Of course, you're right, I'm sorry, Mother," he said. He glanced suspiciously at the partially opened doorway. She was right. The Ministry was determined to cave them in, and after his father's imprisonment at the Ministry, they were bent more than ever on seeing the Malfoys broke and behind bars. With a flick of Draco's wand, the door swung shut. Narcissa looked behind her once more, but let out a relieved sigh when she realized that it'd only been the door closing.

"Draco," she whispered, hands shaking as she looked out the window "We must be careful, we can't trust anyone any longer, not after your father's capture and imprisonment. Everyone now distrusts us, we're being watched from every side, every corner, every shadow, do you hear me? Now isn't the time to slip up. That's what they're all waiting for, a reason to put us down. . ."

"I know."

"Do you really?"

"Yes. I'll be bringing the Malfoys back to the top in no time with the Dark Lord's task."

" _No._ You have no idea what lies in store, foolish boy!" cried Narcissa before Draco even finished speaking, looking up. Tears pooled in her eyes. "Draco, the Dark Lord, he's bent on punishing you for your father's mistake! This is him getting his vengeance! You're only sixteen, a child still! How could you accomplish what the Dark Lord himself failed to do, the Dark Lord being more powerful than any other wizard?" She drew in a ragged breath. "It's a death mission; He knows it is as well as any other wizard, that's why _you_ were given the task in place of several others who've had much more experience than you have, don't you see? He's looking for you to get killed!"

Draco swallowed. He didn't want to believe her, he wanted to believe that he'd been given the task because he was deemed worthy, not because of some form of revenge from the Dark Lord at his father's mistake. "No. You're wrong. You're wrong, Mother. The Dark Lord - he believes I can carry out what he instructed me with. And I will. I'll do it and afterwards, everything will be okay. Glory will be brought to the family, Father will be freed, we'll all be happy!"

Narcissa gave a loud sob and threw herself against the window, clearly wretched at the steely determination and excitement in Draco's voice. Draco watched his mother, fighting back irritation. But no. The Dark Lord trusted him to carry it out, and he _would_ , he'd bring pride and glory to the Malfoy name. He'd prove he was strong enough, good enough, to carry out the job.

"My son. . .my only son. . ." she whispered, and began crying in earnest, gazing at the portrait of Lucius, Draco, and herself hanging from the wall all the while.

"Mother, please, don't cry," said Draco heavily. He couldn't stand seeing his mother in so much pain and fear, thinking of what she thought to certainly be his demise. But he knew, no matter how much he tried to console or convince her otherwise, that she was certain that she was now going to lose her son, so soon after losing her husband to Azkaban. Her fear went too deep, her doubts ran too far, but for naught. Draco _was_ going to survive.

This was all damned Potter's fault, thought Draco viciously. If he'd only died in the Tournament along with Diggory, none of this would be happening. Potter would be dead but his family would be safe and happy. His father wouldn't be imprisoned in Azkaban, and they'd still be in the Dark Lord's good graces.

But his stomach twisted at the thought of another death, of Potter's death, and Draco scowled out the window, annoyed. No matter how much he hated Potter, he didn't want him dead, not _really_. Hurt, yes, but not dead. Not that he'd ever admit that aloud. He would get skinned alive, tortured, if he ever acknowledged out loud that he didn't necessarily like the idea of the Dark Lord killing Harry Potter, that it made him feel nauseous at the mere thought.

Draco might've been a Slytherin with a family who was on the Dark side of things, but it didn't mean he had to enjoy watching people being murdered. Draco didn't think he'd quite gotten to the point where he didn't care if someone died or not, much less took pleasure in it. Maybe he never would, he'd probably always be partially like his mother, who detested watching people die, except maybe Muggles. Narcissa Malfoy was not someone to likely ever like Muggles, not with the fierce hatred she had for them. She'd rather gouge out her own eyes.

"Your father," said Narcissa, startling Draco out his thoughts, "what would your father say, Draco? Do you think he would approve of the Dark Lord's plans for you?"

"Father wouldn't dare question the Dark Lord, Mother," said Draco tightly. "He knows best, I'm sure he would agree wholeheartedly with the Him." The words were cold, treacherous.

Narcissa's look of misery was replaced by one of stunned disbelief. She got to her feet, her face extremely pale. "Do you honestly truly believe your father would be glad to watch you march to your own death?"

Draco didn't say anything. He turned to look at the picture his mother had looked at just moments ago.

"If that is what you think, child, then you are dearly mistaken," said Narcissa, gripping the windowpane tightly. "Your father would _never_ allow you to risk your life on a mission that is bound to fail, be it the Dark Lord's bidding or not! You're his son, _our_ son! How could you even think of such a thing?"

"He wouldn't want me to die because I'm the Malfoy heir," said Draco scathingly. "Who else would carry on the family name if I were to die, when I have no brother or sister, eh? That's right, no one! I'm the only one able to carry on the Malfoy lineage! Only me! I'm all that's left of the Malfoys."

His mother didn't look like she knew what to say next. She simply stared at him, her face stricken, blue eyes still over spilling with tears. She looked incredibly lost in her over expensive black dress and coat, as if she didn't know how they'd gotten there, the blues and purples of her alexandrite necklace glinting mockingly.

Guilt surged in Draco's stomach, horrible and strong. He hadn't meant any of that, but he was extremely frustrated and confused now. For, usually, when Narcissa Malfoy decided on something (on when it was best to travel to France, what new law was going to be passed by the Ministry, how the Light side might next react) it turned out to be awfully true. What about if one of these times was now, and, he, Draco would soon be nothing but a memory? A mere whisper here and now to be forgotten after a year or so?

Just as Draco opened his mouth to apologize, or to yell, he didn't know which, once again, there was a loud crack, then a loud, startled squeak. Annoyed, Draco turned to see one of the family elves lying sprawled on the ground, its legs sticking up in the air. As he watched disdainfully, his mother hastily wiping her eyes with a handkerchief, the elf stumbled onto its legs.

"Young Master Malfoy, Mistress Malfoy," stammered the elf, edging forward timidly. It bowed low, ridiculously low. Draco eyed the envelope in its thin, long hands.

"What is that?" he demanded sharply, pointing at the envelope. Narcissa straightened as she too saw the crisp white envelope.

"A-A paper, Master Draco," squeaked the elf. "Bloomy be cleaning the library, sir, just as Master said to, when the fire spit and crackled, and out came a envelope in white. Oh, how scared Bloomy was, sir, but Bloomy be brave and come here to deliver your mail to the Mistress Malfoy and Master Draco."

"Who sent it, elf?" snapped Narcissa, peering out the window anxiously. The Malfoys' mail usually arrived by owlpost, not by fire.

"I is not knowing, very sorry, Mistress Malfoy. This paper just came, but. . .it say it from Gringotts Wizarding Bank. Do that help?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Interesting, I never knew we'd been to Gringotts recently, Mother. Bloomy, give that here. Now."

"Yes, sir."

Trembling, Bloomy scurried forward and handed the envelope to Draco, who snatched it out of her trembling hands. She looked down, her huge green ears drooping as Draco looked at the letters written in cursive handwriting.

For a moment, he didn't move. His eyes were glued to the two words that interested him the most, "Black Family" and "will". Then, hands trembling, he tore past the Gringotts seal on the front of the envelope to reveal the folded piece of creamy white parchment he knew would be inside. His mother watched him, a curious look on her face, no doubt wondering why Gringotts had sent a letter.

"Mother," said Draco. "Listen to this.

 _To Mister Draco Lucius Malfoy and Lady Narcissa Malfoy,_

 _Please accept my apologies for sending this through fire-messaging, but it appears that heavy wards have been set up around Malfoy Manor to prevent any unknown person or creature from being permitted entrance to set foot inside the manor grounds. This was an alternative to that._

 _It has recently come to my notice that Lord Sirius Orion Black of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black has recently passed away. Thus, it is now time for the deceased Lord Black's will to be read aloud to any family members or persons mentioned within the will, as clearly stated in the Codes of Family Inheritance at Gringotts, Chapter 4._

 _My apologies are offered for the delay._

 _I have made an arrangement to meet with you at three o'clock this evening. Simply ask for the Black family goblin, and you will be led to me._

 _Thank you,_

 _Fang, family goblin to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black_

 _Gringotts Wizarding Bank UK"_

Narcissa laughed coldly. "Oh, Sirius has mentioned us in his will, has he?" she spat. Her eyes, bloodshot, gleamed darkly. "I, for one, can't help wondering why that is."

"Maybe he's left us more gold," said Draco, uncertain. He reread the letter carefully, looking for any clues to why they were included when Sirius Black had hated them so strongly but found none.

"Are we to go, or do we refuse?" asked Draco, still staring suspiciously at the letter in his hands.

"Well, we haven't got much of a choice. If we were to decline the meeting with the Black goblin, not only would I be offending the goblins but the house of my fathers. And, trivial as it may seem, the Blacks really are still part of my family, no matter that I am now a Malfoy. Besides, Draco, sweetie, don't you want to know what it is that your blood traitor of an uncle left you?"

"Not really, no. I am positive Black left everything to Potter, Dumbledore, or that stupid Metamorphmagus cousin of his. But . . . Alright, it couldn't hurt, I guess."

His mother merely nodded.

"Bloomy, arrange for lunch with Severus Snape and Lord Nott's son. I'll be expecting them soon." said Narcissa distantly, gliding past the nervous house-elf (Bloomy jumped to the side to avoid getting trampled) on her way to the door. Draco was positive she'd go for a stroll through the gardens, write to whoever it was she wrote to, and then dress. It was what she always did lately. "Don't make any apricot pies, Severus is not fond of them in the slightest. Or the mushroom soup, Theodore Nott simply hates the savor. And make sure you keep out any sweet drinks or desserts for me, I can't stomach them these days, only elf-made wine."

"Yes, Mistress, Bloomy will be good, she will not make apricot pies or soup of mushrooms. And she will get Mistress her elf-made wine, she will, the oldest, tastiest one." squeaked Bloomy. Narcissa nodded once then left for the gardens. The house-elf turned huge, round blue misty eyes to Draco. "Does Master Draco require anything, sir?"

"Yes, actually. Bring up a serving of bouillabaisse, I find I'm suddenly craving some. And butterbeer."

"Yes, sir!" Bloomy bowed ridiculously low, looked at Draco nervously, squeaked, and then disappeared with a loud crack.

Draco smirked.

He didn't treat the house-elves as badly as his father, he wasn't that cruel, but all the same, they knew that he wasn't someone to be crossed, not at the manor. Really, it was amazing. All he had to do was look at them for a few seconds, and they would start trembling in fear, even though he didn't once touch them. His father had really taught the house-elves well, he always thought, if they'd start beating themselves if they thought that Draco or his mother were even the slightest bit unhappy with their job. Just two days ago, after returning home from Hogwarts, he'd had to keep one of the servants, Teal, from strangling himself to death after dropping Draco's suitcase by knocking the choking creature unconscious. (Well, he did so anyways after his mother lifted the nasty hexes Potter and his stupid little friends' placed on him on the train back to London.)

With a snort, Draco headed once more for the long, warm bath simply beckoning him, mindless of the sudden screech resonating from the gardens. Or the heavy silence that settled afterwards.

Five minutes to noon, Draco left his bedroom in a considerably happier spirit, his pale blonde hair still somewhat damp, and smelling strongly of cologne and bath salts. He'd dressed in a freshly ironed, pressed black suit of the finest silk available to wizard kind. For a few minutes, Draco mulled over wearing a tie or not for a few minutes but then, deciding that it wasn't worth the trouble, decided not to. He cast a critical eye around his bedroom then swept out the door. His wand was tucked safely inside his front pocket, and Draco occasionally reached inside to make sure it was still there. Not that he was worried that someone would steal his wand. No one at Malfoy Manor would dare try to steal a Malfoy's belongings, the punishment would be too horrible to pay.

He hummed faintly as he made his way down the stairs to the dining room (there were four in reality, including one on 'his' floor, but the central one was on the main floor), feeling strangely . . . pleased at the thought that he'd been included in Sirius Black's will. He stared at his reflection in the gilded mirror on top of the steps as he passed by.

Draco's hatred for Sirius Black at the knowledge that he meddled with Potter and his lot while alive had only been strengthened by the fact that Sirius Black was his uncle, they were related, and yet he hadn't cared. He'd befriended James Potter, enemy of the Dark Lord, and agreed to be Harry Potter's godfather, also enemy of the Dark Lord. He was a disgrace to the pure-bloods, to the family Black. But he was dead now, and Draco found that he felt just the slightest bit sorry for what Sirius Black could've been, who could've saved himself by swearing his loyalty to the Dark Lord instead of the Potters and Dumbledore. Instead, Bellatrix Lestrange, Draco's aunt and Black's cousin, had been forced to kill him. Though Draco knew quite well that Aunt Bella enjoyed being the one to have killed her traitorous cousin.

Whenever Draco saw her now, Aunt Bella recounted the story with unrestrained glee, laughing happily at the torment she knew Black's death caused for Harry Potter.

Potter's face was one of shocked horror, then one of anguish when he realized Black was dead, she said. He tried to torture her after realizing that Black wasn't ever going to come back, but he couldn't, he was too weak, too full of righteous anger. Draco had to hand it to Potter, he really was bold. He wouldn't dare attempt attack a Death Eater, much less a ruthless, deranged one who happened to be the Dark Lord's most loyal follower.

"Stop sulking and stand straight, boy," snapped one of the Malfoy ancestors from within his silver-famed portrait. Draco sneered as he recognized the rude Malfoy as his great-great-great-great uncle Petyr Malfoy. How dare he talk to him like that? He was the Malfoy heir! And Petyr Malfoy was one to talk, the back of his pale head was standing on end!

"Go back to slumbering, yeah, and leave me alone," he snapped irritably, raising one eyebrow at Uncle Petyr's indignant glare.

"All the Malfoys in shame, disgraced, the family fallen from the high ranks of society, now no more than an average pure-blood family, and this arrogant brat giving _me_ orders," grumbled Petyr Malfoy as Draco continued on, purposefully slouching a bit. He didn't respond at the curse his dead uncle shouted at him, pretending instead to ignore him. Maybe he'd stop talking like that. "I was the greatest politician of the time, I was, pure-bloods in awe of me, Half-Bloods and Muggle-borns bending to my every will. This, the world overrun with filthy Half-Breeds and Muggle-borns, never would've happened in my time! They'd all be tortured and killed!"

Draco bristled.

Ignoring his deranged uncle's rambling about torturing Half-bloods and Muggle-borns, he walked past several more portraits, and was glad that no one else attempted to insult him. He rolled his eyes. Then again, Petyr Malfoy's mother had been a Bulstrode, what was to be expected? They were all a bunch of nutters, really, the whole lot of them. Millicent Bulstrode included. Especially her, the stupid girl.

Once Draco got to the first landing, he took a deep breath and straightened his back the way his father had taught him, setting his face into one of impenetrable aloofness, exactly like his father's. A Malfoy never showed emotion in public. Emotions suggested feelings, feelings suggested weakness, and a Malfoy never showed weakness. Draco then proceeded to walk briskly down the wide corridor, sneering at one house-elf standing atop a three-legged stool, furiously scrubbing the diamond-paned windows to gleaming perfection as he passed by. The ugly little thing squealed and rubbed even more furiously at the windows.

When he reached the heavy, double doors leading inside to the dining hall, Draco ran a shrewd eye over his attire, re-checking for any signs of weakness or flaws. Finding none, he nodded to himself and reached forward, touching the double doors lightly with his fingers. It instantly swung open beneath his touch, recognizing him as its master. Silently, feeling wary about the whole luncheon as a whole, Draco stepped inside the room and stood there as the doors closed once more behind him.

His mother looked up from the far corner of the room, where she was busy snapping orders to a terrified-looking house-elf. "Draco," she said, turning towards him. She shot the house-elf a cold look over her shoulder. "Bette, go do what I asked of you. And do make sure there are no . . . accidents this time or it'll be clothes for you. Well, what are you waiting for?"

Looking positively terrified at the thought of receiving clothes, and thus freedom, Bette nodded hastily and disappeared, a suspiciously red rag clutched in one tiny fist.

"What was that about, Mother?" asked Draco, still gazing at where Bette'd stood just a second ago. Concerned, he cut his eyes to his mother's face, thinking that maybe something had happened to her out in the gardens. There really was no one that they could trust now. But aside from looking mildly irritated, Narcissa Malfoy was the picture of calmness. Or she did on the outside anyways. Draco knew his mother well enough to know something was wrong with her, aside from the usual these days. But he looked at her thin smile and distant eyes and knew instantly it was better to stay silent because it was all too obvious she wasn't going to tell him anything.

"Nothing. Draco, don't worry about it," said Narcissa Malfoy a split second later, proving Draco correct. He frowned inwardly.

"Has Severus arrived?" he said, changing tacks instead of demanding an answer, as he actually wanted. He knew he shouldn't push his mother too much when it came to whatever she was hiding these days. She would never do anything to hurt him.

Narcissa winced almost imperceptibly. "No, he hasn't. But he'll be along soon, I'm sure." she said quietly, trailing one thin finger over the dark blue of her dress in a distracted manner, her pale blue eyes surveying the dark marble of the dining table. Draco's eyes narrowed, having caught the slight hesitation in his mother's voice when he asked if his godfather had arrived yet. What was going on that he was so obviously missing?

Before he could answer though, there was a sudden bang from down the hall followed almost instantly by all-too familiar loud cursing. Narcissa's eyes widened as she, too, recognized the voice to be that of Severus Snape's and hurried out of the room so fast Draco thought that her heels were on fire, long blonde hair trailing behind her. Draco stared after her, watching his mother turn the corner and disappear from sight, baffled and completely bewildered. Since when had Narcissa Malfoy ever been so eager to see one Severus Snape before? Usually, she allowed Draco to be the one to greet his godfather, offering her greetings only after several minutes had passed and both Draco and Lucius had welcomed Severus into their home.

 _What does she know?_ he thought. _Has - Did something happen?_

Snapping back to reality, he cleared his throat and, after glancing warily at the extravagantly set-up table, he swept out the door towards his mother and godfather.

"- Severus, please, he can't know!"

Draco froze outside the dining room at his mother's voice, thick with fear and urgency. His sense of foreboding increased when Severus whispered something back in harsh tones. The fact that he sounded aggravated only increased said feeling. Cautiously, feeling it would be best if he wasn't spotted, he crept forward with his back against the smooth white walls and peered over the curve of the majestic walls.

Narcissa Malfoy stood at the far end of the foyer, her head bent close to Severus Snape's. But even from his position at the other end of the room, Draco could see that his mother's face was wet. His stomach sank. Was she crying again? Why? Was it about him, Draco? No. It couldn't be. It was probably about his father, yes. He gripped the wall tightly with one hand as his mother wiped hastily at her face, which, it turned out, was actually streaked with tears.

"Draco deserves to know," hissed Severus.

So it was about him after all.

Draco mentally cursed every magical being on earth as he leaned forward, forcefully ignoring the fast thudding of his heart and the blood roaring in his ears. Now was not the time to panic. That could wait for later when he was confined in the safety of his room.

"He can't," whispered Narcissa, and it wasn't lost on Draco that although her face was one of bitter anguish, there was also determination. As if she had it in mind that her son would be kept in the dark and under the belief of promised safety for as long as possible, no matter that she'd told Draco just an hour ago that he _wasn't_ safe. Draco laughed quietly at the irony. "It's all too much, Severus. Why can't you see reason?"

Snape's face twisted with fury. "Narcissa," he said in a low, soft voice, "this is Draco we're talking about here not some dirty, unexperienced Muggleborn. You think he can't take care of himself? That he hasn't got the wits to accomplish the unaccomplished, to do what he knows to be best? Do you, perhaps, think him to be . . . weak?"

Exactly! Draco smirked, despite himself. Even Severus, harsh and cold as he was to most, admitted that Draco was fully capable of taking care of himself and doing what needed to be done. Even if that something was something most people would flinch at, Draco, admittedly, included. But what mattered was that he _could_ , he could do it. Do what needed to be done.

"Yes!" exclaimed Narcissa vehemently, firing up at once. Draco startled out of his thoughts to stare at her, stricken. She rushed on, the color high in her cheeks. "I know my son, Severus, and he isn't one capable of such a . . . a horrible deed. As unpleasant as he may sometimes be towards some, as thoroughly Slytherin as he _is_ , he doesn't have it in him to hurt someone. He's too soft, too weak! Have you ever seen him harm someone to such a degree for it to be irreversible? Of course not. And most importantly, which you seemed to have forgotten, as you have countless other times, Draco isn't like his father!"

Snape stared at her.

"He can't know," whispered Narcissa again, tilting up her chin.

For a long moment, Severus stared at Narcissa Malfoy silently, his expression of one who'd been hit with a Bludger and then told it was Christmas. Draco could almost see the cogs in his brain turning. Tell Draco the horrible truth and prepare him for what was to happen or not say a thing and watch him suffer. Severus's mouth thinned, and Draco was sure that was it. He was going to refuse to keep him in the dark, stumbling along without any light or guidance. But then Severus exhaled a heavy breath and said, in a detached voice, "And so he won't. Not from me, anyhow."

Narcissa's eyes widened a fraction in shock. Evidently, she couldn't believe Snape would agree to keeping her son in the dark. Not when he himself detested lies and secrets. But then she nodded sharply when Severus's face tightened, suspecting what she was currently thinking, relief clear on her smooth, pale face. She reached out and grabbed Severus's hand tightly. "Thank you, Severus, thank you."

"I do not do this for you," said Severus coldly, sneering down at Narcissa as he smoothly slid out of her grasp, "but for Draco."

Draco stared at him, partially amazed and then wholly enraged. How dare his godfather keep news so important it made his mother cry away from him? He had a right to know! This was _his_ future they were talking about, not the one of an animal to be used and carelessly thrown away as soon as its use was done! His neck prickled with rage and he had half a mind to storm up to his mother and demand that she tell him the whole truth about his assignment, because clearly he was being kept in the dark, even after everything had supposedly been explained to him. Supposedly. He resisted the urge to hurt someone.

"I know and that's why it means all the much more. With Lucius gone . . . He trusts you completely. You're his favourite person, the one he admires most . . . He'll listen to _you_."

Snape snarled. "I get it, I get it. You don't owe me anything, Narcissa. Merlin forbid should - "

He was interrupted by the sudden whooshing of the fireplace. Narcissa stiffened. She wiped a hand across her face hastily and went to stand a respectable distance away from Severus, her face settling into the calm façade Draco saw her wear in the dining room. One that, he was now sure of, was a valiant front in which she meant to hide her fear.

As the fireplace crackled and fanned out, Draco straightened his spine.

He strolled forward confidently as out of the fire came two tall, dark figures, the tallest one first. Draco smiled at the taller of the two, momentarily paying no attention to the ash now covering the pristine white marble floor, the boy standing rigidly behind the taller of the two, or the suspicious look on his godfather's face.

"Theo," said Draco politely, inclining his head slightly in respect. However, he sneered in the inside, hating that he had to come face-to-face with the son of the man who'd helped in his father's capture and imprisonment by the Ministry. "How very nice of you to join us."

Theodore Nott, however, seemed to have no such hostile feelings for his fellow classmate. He grinned crookedly as he shook hands with his fellow classmate. "Draco, very nice to see you as well. How are you?"

"Who's that?" Draco jerked his head to the stiff, reticent boy behind Theo, eyes downcast but face held up proudly. That gesture alone made Draco instantly dislike him.

"Oh," Theo's lips curled slightly as if in contempt or disgust, " _that's_ Terrence Vaughn, son of one of my father's clientele and my childhood sitter. Father thought it fit that Terrence here look after me if something were ever to happen to him, see. Thought he was smarter and more coherent than the others. So here he is, my . . . companion."

"Is he a pure-blood, at least?" scoffed Draco, glaring distastefully at the other bloke's somewhat decent trainers. He wouldn't have a Mudblood dirtying Malfoy floors. Not if he could help it. Theo's little servant flushed angrily but didn't look up.

Theo did laugh this time, a nasty little laugh, evidently amused. "Of course," he said. "Father wouldn't have it any other way now, would he?"

Draco sniffed. "Of course not. That would be utterly disgraceful."

"Yeah, well he's only proven slightly useful." Theo sneered at Vaughn condescendingly, dislike dripping from every word. "Most of the time he's as clueless as an Obliviated person. Just the other day, he dropped my father's - my _father's_ , mind you - gold bauble of my mum on the floor, the stupid prat. No amount of polishing will erase the scratch on it."

"How dreadful."

"Draco," interrupted Severus as Theo opened his mouth once more, fury in his eyes. He grabbed his godson's arm firmly and pulled him back. "Don't you think it is now time to lead the way to the dining hall? Lingering in these difficult times would be unwise."

What he really meant, Draco knew, was to relieve his mother from standing there dying from boredom. And to relieve the slightly upset look on Vaughn's face, possibly, who looked like he wanted to cry. Pathetic. All because a few little words? What was he, a bloody Hufflepuff?

"You're right, Severus, of course." said Draco coolly, turning away. He knew how much his godfather hated weaklings, especially people who cried. It drove him mad. Draco couldn't blame him. Seeing someone cry made him strangely irritated, like a bee buzzing around him in hopes for honey. "Let us proceed to the dining room, Theo, Severus, Mother."

Severus's mouth curled into a cold smile. Apparently he'd caught Draco's deliberate non-mention of Theo's new caretaker. Draco stared hard at him, attempting to see any flicker of remorse at what his godfather was hiding behind those cold eyes. But all he said was, "Lead the way, Draco." His eyes gleamed with the promise of torturing Vaughn as he inclined his head in an indication for Draco to walk first. And so Draco did. He led his mother, who'd been studying Theo's companion as if he were an interesting new-found vermin, away, her arm linked elegantly with his.

"Be careful around that one," whispered Narcissa as they walked towards the gleaming double doors, and though her posture was relaxed her voice was stiff. "He has the desperate look of someone willing to kill and cheat in order to achieve any means held within mind. He can't be trusted."

Draco snorted. "Don't worry, Mother. Vaughn couldn't be a Slytherin if his life depended on it. He's too soft, one can easily tell just by _looking_ at him. No. I would say he's not a threat in the least."

Narcissa said no more on the matter, but her gaze remained cold and distrustful as they entered the dining room. She sat down in her usual chair near the front only after Draco had taken a seat at the head of the table in the one his father customarily occupied, the one meant for the Head of Family. Severus sat next to her while Theo and Vaughn took the places opposite them, the latter looking around at the expensive and tasteful silverware with a touch of undisguised amazement. He'd obviously never experienced near endless wealth or the luxuries that came with it. Draco stared at Vaugh, having half the mind to ask what Theo had shown him of the Nott Manor. Certainly even Theo would have shown Vaughn the handsome room where the Notts dined, the music room Theo's mother had, according to Theo's father, so adored?

"Hermes," he called out stiffly, still gazing at Theo's companion with a calculating look. Maybe his mother was right. Vaughn _did_ have a certain desperation around him, one that showed how much he yearned to not only be in the presence of the well-off and powerful but to be one of them. He had very high hopes, big dreams. His eyes showed that well enough. Dreams that, decided Draco, could be manipulated into helping Draco, into serving a purpose. He watched Vaughn eye the diamond-panelled windows longingly. Yes, Vaughn would perhaps prove to be useful.

"You be calling for Hermes, Master Draco?"

Rousing himself from his racing thoughts, Draco turned to glare at the nervous house-elf before him. "Yes, of course I did, you stupid little creature. I wasn't very well speaking to myself now was I?" Hermes cowered under Draco's irritation but didn't make a sound. He knew better than that, all the house-elves did. They'd been trained to be well-mannered and silent until spoken to. Or most of them, he thought bitterly. "Right. Go bring the first two courses, you and Bette. Have Nettie bring firewhiskey for Severus, and tell her to not forget the _goblin_ -made goblets, the elf-made ones aren't quite as . . . plentiful."

"Of course, Master. I will do what Master says, oh yes!" Beaming at him, Hermes disappeared only to reappear a second later, his small arms laden with plates. A particularly large one rested atop his head.

"So," began Theo as Hermes set a steaming plate of glazed dumplings, stuffed apricots, and wild rice in front of him, "how ever did you manage to get those filthy hexes that Potter and his blood traitor followers put on you?"

"Potter cursed you?" Severus's voice could've cut through steel.

"Yes." He glared at Theo, still embarrassed at having been cursed by Potter's stupid friends, especially a Hufflepuff. A bloody _Hufflepuff!_ Could the shame be any worse? "Those stupid members from the D.A. attacked me out near the Slytherin compartment, unprovoked. How'd you come to hear that, Theo?"

Theo smirked as he helped himself to a healthy serving of plum-and-ableroot dressing. He was obviously enjoying Draco's discomfort way too much. "Crabbe," he said smugly. "His mum had a fit when he arrived home looking quite unusually like a slug. She came Flooing right as I was headed out to meet with someone, demanding I turn her son back into an ordinary state. Almost gave me a heart attack too." He snarled.

"Of course! He never did know when to keep his mouth shut." Draco looked distastefully at his plate. "Bette, get rid of this. I don't much fancy it. I want fried filet instead."

Bette wrung her hands nervously as she slowly made her way to him. "But w-we be having no filet, Master Draco," she whispered morosely, clearly displeased at not having what her Master wanted.

"Well then you best go find some, you stupid elf!"

Vaughn watched Draco order the house-elf around with cold ruthlessness with unabashed wonder, of which Draco was all too aware of. This was it. He mentally prepared himself for what he was going to say next. It had to be said in just the correct way in order to more easily persuade Vaughn into working for him.

"And if you can't find some and have it cooked and set before me in twenty minute's time, Bette, it'll be ironed hands and no sleep for you."

Bette gave a small squeal of panic. She bowed hastily, muttered, "Yes, Master Draco, sir," to which Theo laughed at before vanishing with a loud crack.

There was a moment's silence where Narcissa looked blankly at her son and Severus frowned slightly. Draco instantly knew why. He'd never asked an elf to punish themselves before, no matter how angry or annoyed he was. He'd left that for his father to do, instead opting to insult the house-elves in any ways possible, sometimes, at the most extreme, doubling the amount of things they were supposed to do until the tasks were near impossible to complete. Always did they all know that Draco wasn't a man for violence or punishment, he wasn't cruel. Mean, yes, sometimes, but not _cruel._

"Do they honestly listen to you?" murmured Vaughn suddenly, almost to himself, drawing everyone's attention to him. Theo's face filled instantly with an odd kind of fury that made Narcissa's eyebrows arch slightly.

"Shut your mouth, prat!" he hissed, clenching the hand wrapped around his fork tightly.

To Draco's amusement and surprise, Vaughn's eyes instantly dropped to his lap as his face paled. The look that slid onto his face was one of utter misery. Almost discreetly, he scooted away from the enraged Slytherin.

"Mister Nott," snapped Severus. "Do refrain from trivial actions of anger while eating. It is unbecoming of a Slytherin as you should very well know. Am I, perhaps, mistaken in my assumption?"

"No, Professor," said Theo stiffly.

But he continued to glower at Vaughn.

"Oh, calm down, Theo, Vaughn here was probably just curious" said Draco, who was actually quite perplexed at his classmate's sudden anger issues, something that'd never occurred before. In fact, Theo'd never been much of an angry person. So this new unexplainable emotion didn't make sense, especially since Draco knew for a fact that Theo had never been chummy with his father except say the occasional polite, indifference conversation. Now the question was: What was going on with Theo?

When Theo turned to him, Draco blinked. The other guy's eyes were shadowed and full of confused bitterness. Hmm. Well, yes, something definitely _was_ wrong then.

"Right as always, Draco," he said distantly. He looked down at his plate and smiled suddenly. "Beautiful day today, isn't it?"

For a moment, Draco didn't know whether he should laugh or making a biting remark. Honestly, one would think Theo's domestic had been run over, he was so glum. And what was all of this about, suddenly acting like a madman? But then he remembered what needed to be done and sighed inwardly. "Theo, may I borrow your - companion for a moment? I need to drill into him some basic rules of discipline and respect which he seems to greatly be lacking."

"Does it really matter?" muttered Theo. But he nodded nonetheless.

With a withering look at the smaller boy, Draco stood up, resolutely ignoring his mother's scandalized expression and Severus's of polite curiosity. Now was not the time for explanations. That could wait. He had much more pressing matters now than simple manners.

Without looking back, Draco walked out, leaving his uneaten food and untouched goblet behind along with a deathly silence, Vaughn scurrying after him with no idea of what was to happen next.


End file.
